


Obladi-Obidala

by colbyfromage



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Space Opera, Awesome Padmé Amidala, Coruscant (Star Wars), Dark Underbelly of Coruscant, F/M, Film Noir, Forbidden Love, Force-Sensitive Padmé Amidala, Hutts (Star Wars), Idiots in Love, Isn't Anakin a Little Young for Padme?, Jedi, Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, Kyber Crystals, Let's Talk About the Trade Federation Some More!, Manipulative Sheev Palpatine, Minor Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Obidala, Space Pirates, Subterfuge, The Most Star Wars-y Starwarsiness!, Trouble in the Senate, conflicted obi-wan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2020-09-28 06:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20421089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colbyfromage/pseuds/colbyfromage
Summary: There's a mysterious scandal afoot in the underbelly (and overbelly) of Coruscant, and Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi means to drag the *perfectly respectable* Senator Padme Amidala into the fray whether she's ready or not. FYI: She's ready. What she's NOT ready for: Master Obi-Wan Kenobi's infectious smiles. Also included: Padwan Anakin "tall, dark, and silly" Skywalker. AU-ish.





	1. In the Jedi Temple

OBLADI-OBIDALA

Coruscant was a hotbed of filthy junk traders and sleek politicians, of tired police details and haughty vice-pushers, but most of all, it was a place that was necessary to tolerate if one wanted to get anything done in the galaxy.

The planet itself spun neon trails around a distant, silent star, orbiting with a defiant ignorance. It was scarcely aware there was a star there any longer, so enveloped was Coruscant with its own dazzling hubris that had shimmered for a thousand years. A long, long time ago, in a time almost no one remembered anymore, the planet had exhausted its own resources and turned to the import of grand mountains of elements from other parts of the galaxy to sustain its glow. Since then it had hummed with a certain crawling, blazing, orderly-disorder.

If it had noticed, or paused to consider, it would realize that suns are not infinite, and neither would be Coruscant, posing as an artificial sun. Resources, however obtained or borrowed or stolen, always come to an end, and the nuclear fission of every star always, eventually, would burn itself into an empty husk.

The industry of Coruscant would ignore this fact, however, for as long as it possibly could.

In the case of those who inhabit this story, it wouldn’t seem to matter. The burning out and eventual decay of Coruscant wouldn’t be seen for millennia, and certainly not for almost everyone who was currently alive upon it, but there was a sense of the exhaustible which, for those who listened, seemed to tell of the rampant consumption of things that cannot last.

For Senator Padmé Amidala, Coruscant was a necessary place to do business with other Senators and with those in the Trade Federation. She, like nearly all the inhabitants of Coruscant, ignored what might have been the distant niggling from the planet itself, of what was left of its natural state, of the pained scent of artificial air required to be produced due to the absence of forests that once covered swaths of the land. She, like everyone else, allowed herself to be dazzled by the intricate layers of chrome and neon that had been wrought, numbing her from moment to moment for as long as she stood within its gravity.

It wasn’t worth thinking about how Coruscant could be different, for there were much worse problems to consider in the galaxy, and if she were to want to spend a day in the country, all she had to do was take a transport to a rural planet. Coruscant’s state wasn’t her problem to consider.

The windows in her top floor flat were deceptively broad, exposing Padmé to a great width of blue sky heavily laced with cirrus clouds. It was bright, and it was early.

“Good morning,” her service droid said, turning Padmé’s attention behind as the vaguely feminine-looking droid rolled near with caf on a tray.

“Hello,” she replied without much thought, taking the caf and returning her gaze out of the window.

“Would you like to hear your schedule for today?” inquired the droid, oozing with lugubriosity.

“Fine,” replied Padmé, taking a sip from her cup. The caf was terrible, today. She briefly wondered if shipments of good caf beans had been interrupted again.

“You’ve a meeting with the Naboo trade commission at the ninth hour, the delegation from Ladza-440 at the tenth, eleven is for reports from the inner rim, a luncheon with the Chancellor at noon-,”

“Ugh,” muttered Padmé, perhaps taken to slurping her caf in limp opposition. The Chancellor was always so _exhausting_.

“Two meetings with consulates from allied planets at one and three… and it appears as if the Jedi temple has just requested your presence at the hour of two past noon,” said the droid.

The Jedi temple? _How strange._

“The Jedi temple has requested my presence?” she inquired. “But why?”

“I haven’t that information, ma’am,” replied the droid. “Shall I send your acceptance or regrets?”

She turned to the droid.

“You mean the Jedi temple asked me to show up and didn’t give any other information?” asked Padmé, then, looking at the droid sideways, “That isn’t like them at all, is it?”

“I shouldn’t presume to know, ma’am,” said the droid. 

Padmé wanted to roll her eyes at the droid.

“Of course, you wouldn’t,” she muttered. “Well, who sent the request? Do you know that?”

“Ah, the signature,” replied the droid, who seemed to be processing for a moment. “It came from Jedi Kenobi.”

She had to still her mind for a moment whenever she heard his name, and it was all the fault of that awful embargo he’d so heroically thwarted. Sometimes she cursed the way he would jump into things like that, wildly protective, but always steady, bringing to her mind one of the great trees of Endor. Steady, strong, valiant… and utterly elusive. A thing that belonged somewhere else, to _something_ else. Of course, she _had_ to go.

“Send my acceptance,” she told the droid, trying to stamp down her inner curiosity.

She had other things to think about right now, namely the Naboo trade commission with whom she was to meet within a rapidly shrinking amount of time.

“You will be accepted at the Grand Doors at the second hour past noon,” said the droid.

The _Grand Doors_. Of course, it would be called something like that. The Jedi never half-did anything, did they? She smirked to herself, regretting she had no one upon which to foist her riffing of the Jedi temple.

“Fifteen ticks until your meeting with the Naboo trade commissioners,” stated the droid.

“Ah,” said Padmé, remembering herself and, after a caf fumble, she sprang into action. 

\--o—o—o—o—o—o—o—

The private speeder had been able to take her most of the way to the temple, but the temple, perhaps by its very nature, or perhaps by its very _force of will_, required that those who approached it would do a measure of that approaching on foot. She felt it very old-fashioned, but perhaps effective. There was a certain silence which enveloped one when one transported oneself using one’s own evolutionarily supplied feet.

She found the approach of the _Grand Doors_ to seem almost interminable, since they loomed, and then loomed more as she drew nearer, and then further loomed upon her arrival. She came at last to the shut, smooth crack of the doors at the top of a welcoming set of splayed stone stairs and wondered how one would “ring the doorbell” of the Jedi temple.

Her wondering was cut short by the arrival of a lanky Jedi, or at least what she assumed was a Jedi, wearing the robes of a Jedi and a holstered lightsaber on his hip. Where he had come from, she couldn’t surmise.

“Senator Padmé Amidala?” inquired the Jedi.

“That is who I am,” she replied.

“Follow me,” said the Jedi, who then turned on his heel, walking askance the Grand Doors, and pointedly not _through_ the Grand Doors.

Padmé hastened to follow.

“Shan’t we go through the Grand Doors?” inquired Padmé carefully.

“Oh, no,” laughed the Jedi, his stride long and hard to keep up with, “those are too hard to open. We save those for… well… _grand _entrances_._”

He arrived at a side door which was very much _not_ grand and held it open for her. It really looked like a service entrance. The hallway within was dark and narrow. She suddenly felt dubious.

“Where is Master Kenobi?” she ventured.

“He’s waiting for you within the temple,” replied the Jedi.

“Oh,” she said, glancing at the dark hallway again, and not moving.

The Jedi shifted a little, and then smiled at her.

“Senator Amidala,” he said, “Shall I fetch him for you?”

He must have sensed her unease. She wasn’t still alive on accident, after having dealt with death threats and assassination plots for as long as she could remember.

She looked over the Jedi. He was tall. Human. Young. Younger than her, even. With her range of experience, she could almost always tell when someone was deceiving her, and this Jedi looked honest. He _felt _honest.

“No, I will come,” she declared at last, entering the small, old hallway of the Jedi temple.

It smelled of aged wood and polish and a strange spice. There was some kind of incense in the air, just faint, but wafting like a shadow.

“We use this side entrance most of the time,” said the Jedi, conversing as they walked. “It’s easier, though not very impressive, I’m sure.”

“There’s something quaint about this place,” said Padmé, meaning it.

She knew it was an ancient building, though she’d never been in it. It’d been there for thousands of years, housing what seemed like an endless supply of Jedi, yet the old halls were small and intimate, flawed and used, not vast, perfect, nor cavernous like she had supposed they would be. At last, they came to a smallish room that housed a wooden table big enough for ten chairs, and high windows edging the walls through which light filtered as if shimmering through water. The incense was stronger here, but also here was Obi-Wan Kenobi, and she suddenly forgot to notice anything else.

Standing with a hand leaning on the table, he wore earth-toned robes crossing his torso with precision, as if he dressed humbly yet carefully. His lightsaber was at his hip, and he was wearing a rich brown travelling cloak. She wondered if he was preparing to go somewhere. He looked up to see her and smiled.

“Senator Amidala,” he said, straightening. 

“Master Kenobi,” she replied, moving into the room.

He circumvented the table to meet her, and at once she didn’t know exactly what to do, so she held out her hand. He took it.

“It was nice to meet you, Senator,” came the voice of the lanky Jedi from behind.

“Oh,” she said, slightly startled and turning to smile at him. “You as well. Thank you.”

As he left, she noticed Obi-Wan still had her hand in his.

“Ah,” said Obi-Wan. “Are you well?”

“Yes, who was that?” she asked.

“A new Jedi,” he said, glancing behind her at the doorway where the Jedi had disappeared. “His name is Jate.”

“Ah, if I see him again, I’ll have to…” and she paused, because this conversation suddenly felt very banal.

Obi-Wan released her hand, finally.

“Never mind,” she said, refocusing herself. “How are you?”

“Let’s not bore ourselves,” he replied.

All at once she laughed, as a humorous smile teased out across his lips.

“I’m so glad,” she replied, returning his smile genuinely. “And for what purpose have you asked me to come?”

“First I must say, I’m surprised you _did_ come,” he said to her. “I am aware you’re very busy.”

“Yes, I believe I will be missing a scheduled meeting in about twenty ticks,” she replied, glancing up at the windows as if to gauge by the sun (which was quite an archaic notion). She returned her gaze to him and said, “But to be honest with you, Master Kenobi-” 

“Obi-Wan,” he corrected.

“Obi-Wan,” she said to him, and there was something faint in his smile, something that smacked of a halting insecurity, almost entirely hidden, yet she paused at it, though for only a beat. “I’ll miss a meeting or two to get to see the inside of the Jedi temple. Who wouldn’t?”

Obi-Wan laughed and said, “And now you’ve seen for yourself how dull it is.”

“Now tell me what you want of me,” she insisted.

“Yes,” he said, motioning for her to join him at the table, which was fitted for holos, despite its organic material.

Once she was beside him, he flicked a switch and a small holo flickered into view, revealing two men, one human and one a lizardesque Nikto, who stood engrossed in conversation, yet not moving. They appeared to have been holo-ed from a high angle, as if it had been done without their knowledge.

“What am I looking at, Obi-Wan?” she asked.

“This was found near the lower levels,” said Obi-Wan.

“Here,” she asked, “on Coruscant?”

“Indeed,” he replied.

“An unsavory place,” she recounted, though it wasn’t something that required recounting, since everyone knew the lower levels of Coruscant could approach the lawlessness of wild space. She’d never seen it, of course. She most certainly never _wanted _to see it.

“Quite, and so…,” he said, flicking the holo to proceed and the men’s voices crackled through the ghostly image.

_“You’re sure the shipment will be at the rendezvous?” asked human male of the other. He looked like a native of the depths. _

_“Naboo never misses a shipment, and it’s always 12 parsecs from Corus on the tenth day of Ninmonth,” said the Nikto with a light, otherworldly accent. _

_“What’s my cut?” asked the man. _

_“Your cut’s the same as it’s always been,” said the Nikto shortly. “If you start looking ungrateful, I’ll tell the Huttsman to look somewhere else and to dispense of **you**.” _

_“Soright,” said the man, “There’s no need to get all crantsy about it; tell your Huttsman I won’t miss it.”_

_“Good; don’t,” said the Nikto. _

The holo stretched, crackled, and then began again. Obi-Wan switched it off.

“So… there are a few robbers wanting to hijack a shipment from Naboo?” she asked Obi-Wan. “This doesn’t seem very alarming; this sort of thing happens all the time. Have you alerted Security?”

Obi-Wan looked pensive, and he leaned his arm upon the table and drummed the fingers of his right hand on the wooden surface. The shift made him slightly lower than her, his leaning, and his stance.

“I have not alerted security,” he said as his glance shifted up to her face.

She observed him for a moment, knowing he was holding back.

“Why not?” she asked, feeling obligatory.

He still seemed, despite her presence having been requested by himself, as if he were hesitant in telling her the reason she was here. She watched him draw a breath and let it out, and then he began:

“Senator-”

“Padmé,” she corrected, and he stopped at once.

“Padmé,” he began again, though more consciously.

She realized she had clenched her fists at the softness with which he said her name, and she released them.

“I am aware of some things that perhaps you are not,” he said, his eyes trained upon her, “and I need to know that you can keep a secret… for the greater good.”

“Doesn’t that depend on whether I believe it is for the greater good to keep it or not?” she asked.

“Sadly, I can’t tell you without you knowing it, and I can’t tell you unless you promise first to keep it beween us,” he replied.

“Why not?” she asked.

“It’s really that grave, Padmé,” he said. “And we have to be careful, because I’m not sure… well…”

He trailed off and straightened, his height resuming its normal state. She looked up at him, waiting.

“It’s more than it seems,” he said, seeming to finally settle on saying that much.

She let out a puff of air and felt a little exasperated.

“That isn’t enough,” she said. “Clearly you can see that isn’t enough?”

He smiled at her; it was a fond thing.

“This is why I like you, Padmé,” he said.

She found him befuddling.

“You’re so _responsible_,” he said, “and sharp, and dutiful. And _careful._”

“Thank you, I suppose,” she said, glancing down once, not sure what to do with sudden _compliments_. She gestured and deflected by saying, “Of course you are the same, Obi-Wan. Moreso, I should say.”

“If that’s the case,” he replied, “of course you should trust me, and we should work together on this.”

She looked up at him and saw there was some humor in his eyes, as if he had _tricked_ her, or something, which he certainly had _not. _

“You Jedi are all so opaque and ridiculous,” she said, not meaning it, except a little.

He laughed at her. Somehow, it was beguiling.

“Fine!” she let out. “Fine, Obi-Wan, I’ll do whatever insanity you have planned for me.”

“Well, I haven’t _planned_ anything-,” he began.

“Of course, you have,” she cut him off.

“But I-,” he started.

“Don’t even pretend to be innocent,” she threatened.

“Very well, just a little,” he said, pinching his fingers close together.

She groaned at the truth of it.

He took her arm and pulled her near in a spirit of confidence, but she couldn’t help but be distracted by the blue of his eyes.

“I have reason to believe someone within the Senate is disrupting trade in order to weaken the Republic,” said Obi-Wan, his voice low.

“What in the stars are you going on about now?” she asked.

“How was your caf this morning?” he inquired.

“Terrible,” she said, and then she paused, realizing it really _was_ bad caf.

“But that’s just one thing,” she said, protesting. “It could just be a delayed shipment or-,”

“Or,” he said, “no one has paid enough attention to notice it’s been happening more and more, lately.”

“Perhaps…,” she said, still dubious.

“We can just increase security on the trade routes,” she suggested.

“_I_ certainly can’t,” he said to her. “Do you have that power, Padmé?”

“Well, no, but-,” she began.

“And interestingly enough, the trade security has, recently, had the tendency to be in the wrong places at the wrong times,” he told her. “Who tells the trade security detail where to be and when?”

“You know that’s not just one person, Obi-Wan,” she said.

“No, I suppose not,” he said. “But look at this.”

He held up a ring. She almost wanted to laugh.

“A ring?” she asked in disbelief. “What is this supposed to prove, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan shifted his weight a little and then glanced askance at her.

“Would you think less of me if I told you I had contacts in the underworld?” he asked her.

“Yes,” she said, chortling.

“Then that’s too bad,” he replied, showing her the ring. “Look at it.”

She took it and turned it over in her fingers. It was thick, molten of a golden material but most likely an alloy. The metal was far too hard to be pure gold. Set deeply in the ring was a large crystalline stone that looked plain to her. In fact, it was kind of dowdy. The stone was cloudy and had a very thin fissure running though its center. The ring was lined with many fine scratches that bespoke decades of wear.

“I don’t know who would take the time to set a stone like that,” she said. “It isn’t even pretty.”

“Do you know what kind of crystal that is?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “Should I?”

“It’s a kyber crystal,” he replied, retaking the ring and peering at it. “Cracked. I don’t know what someone would want with it, not like this.”

“A kyber crystal?” she asked. “Like those for use in a lightsaber?”

“Indeed,” he said, grave at once.

“I would agree that’s odd,” she said, “but what does this have to do with everything else?”

“It has been told to me that this belongs to whoever is orchestrating the breakdown of trade within the Republic,” he said.

“By whom?” she asked.

“My contact,” he replied, aloof.

“Your… _contact_,” she stated, looking him in the eye.

Obi-Wan shifted.

“He works for a lot of people,” he said, “but overall, as well as just about everyone who deals in illicit business, he works for the _Hutts_.”

Padmé couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes over the _Hutts_. There wasn’t a worse, more irritating bunch of space slugs in the universe. Nothing but a horde of opportunists, with no care for the greater good beyond the greater lining of their own pocketbooks.

“Of course it’s the Hutts,” she muttered.

“_And,_” continued Obi-Wan, pulling her further into engagement, “this is only one of a myriad of ways someone or some_ones_ are trying to undermine and weaken the Republic.”

“But why?” she asked.

“Perhaps they mean to destroy it,” he suggested.

She heaved a short sigh at Obi-Wan.

“That’s ridiculous,” she said, shaking her head. “The Republic benefits the galaxy far more than any other sort of government could.”

“… and that is what _you_ believe,” he said.

“Well, what do you believe?” she asked him incredulously.

“The same, of course!” he rejoined, with half a laugh. She found herself narrowing his eyes at him.

She leaned in and chided him: “How can you show such joviality when someone’s plotting to destroy our Republic?” 

“I wouldn’t if you weren’t so ridiculously entertaining,” he replied, as if it were _her _fault!

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” she replied while shluffing his hand off her arm. “If you’re going to tell me dire news about the impending destruction of the Republic, then you’re going to have to be serious about it.”

He seemed affronted at that.

“I _am _serious,” he affirmed.

“Then what am I to do, and why am I the one to which this has been told?” she demanded.

“I want you to come with me,” he said. “To the Naboo shipment.”

“The one that is to be pirated by goons?” she asked.

“Indeed,” he replied.

“Whyever would we do that?” she inquired.

“If we’re to untangle this knottage, we’ve got to start at a loose end,” he said.

“You’re insane,” she informed him.

“And then work our way inwards,” he continued.

“That sounds terribly dangerous,” she said.

“We’ve got to find the center of it,” he said, fully immersed in his own commitment.

“I’ll miss more meetings than a thousand-eyed clendrill has eyes,” she mentioned.

“But isn’t that what you really want?” he inquired of her.

“Of course, not!” she stated, outraged he might think she’d secretly desire to neglect her duties.

“Send your assistant,” he said.

“My _droid_?” she asked, incredulous.

He shrugged at her.

“Take your silly padawan with you,” she said, gesturing to the door, as if his padawan would appear.

“He’s not silly,” he informed her.

She gave him a flat look.

“He’s not _very_ silly,” he reformed. “And besides, he’s coming, regardless.”

“There,” she said. “Perfect. You have all you need. Let me know how it goes for you.”

“Padmé…,” he said, and that was all he had to say, because of how his voice inflected, and the fact that, somehow, he made it sound as if he _needed_ her, and that was something she couldn’t reject outright.

“Why should you want me there?” she side-stepped. “What can I do to help at all? I’m a liability. You simply aren’t allowed to get me killed on a pirate ship, you know.”

“Because you care about the Republic, more than any Senator I know,” he said, “and you’re dutiful, knowledgeable, not terrible with a blaster-,”

“’Not _terrible’_?” she protested. “Don’t you mean ‘_excellent’?_”

“And we will need a witness. A senatorial witness,” he said. “For witness purposes.”

She looked at him. He had points, she had to give that to him, but what he was proposing was dangerous, terrifying, and haphazard. It was also _incredibly inconvenient_.

“You know the Jedi can’t testify against a Senator,” he further argued.

“Yes, you can,” she replied.

“And be believed?” he inquired, allowing his question to hang.

_That_ was the crux. The Senate and the Jedi would always have a rift between them, for one was politics, and the other was religion. There was always a distance that couldn’t be breached, and if the Jedi accused one of the Senate’s own of something, there had better be wildly blatant evidence attached, or the Senate will side with its own. However, if a _Senator_ were to accuse another of the Senate, that was more serious, and more tangible.

She gave Obi-Wan a wry look. He knew he was winning this argument; she could see it on his face, but the truth was the truth and Padmé couldn’t deny it.

“Those delegates are _really_ going to dislike meeting with my droid,” she said, defeated by the truth.

Obi-Wan’s face lit up; his adorable smile was almost worth it. _Almost_. She sighed.

“When shall we go?” she relented.

“In half a-,” he began, but was cut off from the outside.

“_Master,_” insisted a voice.

She turned with Obi-Wan to see Anakin Skywalker in darkish Jedi robes, filling half of the doorway. He’d grown tall, dark, and _silly _and he was staring at his master with an expression that only could be described as _horrified. _How long had _he_ been there?

“You _told_ her?” he asked, and the betrayal emanated from him like diamonds.

-O-o_o-O-


	2. On a Public Transport

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Padme questions her life choices as she rides a rickety public transport to Hathon Station with Obi-Wan and his padawan.

-O-o_o-O-

-TWO-

Sitting on a crowded public transport elbow-to-elbow with Obi-Wan Kenobi and his sulking padawan was _not_ what Padmé had expected she would be doing that evening. The transport, old and in disrepair as it was, jerked with the effort of leaving Coruscant’s atmosphere and she had to grasp at her shroud to keep from revealing her face. She had to wonder again how she came to agree to do this.

“You shouldn’t have brought her,” she heard Ani mutter on the other side of Obi-Wan.

She leaned forward to glance at the younger Jedi, but Anakin glanced away in contempt.

Huffing and crossing her arms, she found herself wanting to agree with his assessment.

The transport shivered, then balked, its fluorescent lights blinking in and out with cold buzzes. Murmurs of crowded passengers rose in volume for a moment before fading back into under-sight.

“We’re almost into space,” Obi-Wan assured her, as if she needed assurance from him.

“I do wonder if this transport can manage space,” she replied, feeling aloof. A few nearby persons glanced her way.

She felt Obi-Wan’s warmth close against her arm and he spoke lowly to her:

“If you would, please consider keeping your _ruling class accent_ under wraps.”

“Oh,” replied Padmé, having not considered.

“As lovely as it is,” Obi-Wan added.

“Compliments will get you nowhere,” she said, though she kept her voice quiet.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to (she assumed) object, but there was a violent jolt, a rattling of metal against rust, and she was pitched sideways against him, one hand bracing herself against his arm, and her face in the folds of fabric on his shoulder. She couldn’t help but catch the scent of incense which still lingered on him; a faint, smoky scent mixed with spice, and beneath that scent, something else. Something more _earthen. _

He took her shoulders and righted her once the turbulence subsided, and the look on his face suggested he’d mistaken her expression as fear, but she wasn’t experiencing fear. She realized what she was experiencing was _curiosity_.

“It appears as if we’ve reached outer space,” he said, with an encouraging smile. 

She looked him over and then glanced past him to Ani, who had been watching, and the young padawan had the gall to _smirk. _She stood at once and, giving Ani her most chilling glance, turned and stalked to another bench on the transport and sat alone, determined to avoid both Jedi for the time being.

It didn’t help that the alien she’d chosen to sit beside smelled _terrible._

Closing her eyes, she willed herself to survive the commute.

“_We will reach Hathon station in forty clicks,” _said a tinny, pre-recorded voice over the comm.

It also sounded as if its accent were affectatious.

She stole a glance towards the Jedi. Ani had grown tall in the intervening years, but Obi-Wan had grown more solid, more steady. Perhaps Ani reminded her a bit of what Obi-Wan once was, back when she’d first met the Jedi, when she was a Queen and he was just a padawan. Now he was Master over his own padawan, and she was a Senator.

He seemed to take it in stride, as if it were easy. Ani had a restlessness about him, a shuffling agitation, but Obi-Wan had solidified over the years into something that seemed to never move.

_A great moon-tree of Endor. _

She chuckled to herself and glanced away, finding herself silly. Why should she think so much about Obi-Wan? By all rights she _should_ be furious with him for dragging her into this foul-smelling (literally) transport. There was, however, something about him; it was something that, despite his firmly rooted ways, smacked of an innocence, or _naïveté_, or even a childlike wonder at the galaxy. Obi-Wan was a man who still believed anything was possible, who saw the best in things, and believed that good would prevail.

Padmé had to fight against cynicism in the Senate. It was difficult not to lose one’s momentum in a Senate filled with thousands of bickering Senators.

Still, she believed in what she did, and she believed in the Republic. She supposed that answered rightly why she was here at all, Obi-Wan or no.

Glancing back toward where the Jedi sat, huddled together like monks on an embankment. Obi-Wan was listening to Ani speak. The younger man was expressive with his hands and enthusiasm, and the older one was patient and nodding on occasion.

Obi-Wan glanced up and caught her eye, and she wanted to look away, but he gave her a look before she could that caught her like a moth in a net. He looked _bemused, _as if he and she shared a knowing, as if to say, _“Youth!”_, and throw one’s hands in the air, as if she knew it too and shared in the sentiment.

But did she? She found herself solidly between their ages. Did he think her old? Was she old before her time? Did he think she was so aged in principle to now laugh at the folly of youth? Padmé resisted against experiencing a crisis.

She watched Obi-Wan pat Ani on the thigh and stand before moving to join her, placing himself on the bench between her and the foul-smelling alien. It was a tight, awkward fit.

“You certainly know how to choose a spot,” remarked Obi-Wan under his breath, which he seemed to be trying to hold.

She scooted over as much as she could, relieving him somewhat.

“You didn’t have to come sit here,” she gently chided.

“Yes, I did,” he said. “You looked distressed.”

“I wasn’t distressed,” she lied.

“Well, I am,” he said, cringing from the smell.

She couldn’t help but laugh.

“Come,” she said, grabbing his wrist, “let’s move, then.”

He went mildly, allowing her to pull him away into further recesses of the transport, around a bend and to an unoccupied corner. He let out a breath of relief at the relatively fresh air. If sterile air could be called “fresh”, anyway.

“There was a reason the seat beside that alien was left vacant,” said Obi-Wan, looking amused and relieved.

“I didn’t care,” she said with a faint shrug, “I just moved.”

“And why did you move?” he asked curiously.

She glanced askance.

“It was Ani,” she said. “He clearly doesn’t want me here.”

“He doesn’t know what he wants,” replied Obi-Wan, as if it mattered little.

“It has the effect of making one feel unwanted,” said Padmé, feeling a little affronted at Obi-Wan’s lack of concern.

He noticed.

“Let me assure you, Padmé,” he said, touching her wrist, “that you are wanted.”

His reassurance and the way he touched her wrist made her feel a peculiar agitation, and she had to glance away. For a moment she felt ashamed for seeking out validation that wasn’t necessary.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m being ridiculous. It’s just that I feel a bit like a fish out of water, here.”

When she glanced back, she saw he was smiling at her.

“Well, you are,” he said.

She laughed, despite herself.

“Then let’s talk about what happens next, shall we?” she inquired.

He shifted closer for what she assumed was secrecy’s sake and said, “Once we arrive at Hathon station we’re going to get you a decent disguise and-,”

“What’s wrong with this one?” she asked, indicating her shroud.

“It’s far too fine of a garment,” he said.

“Ugh,” said Padme, “_pirateering_.”

Obi-Wan shrugged at her, as if it was to be expected.

“Well, what about you?” she asked, giving him a once-over. “You’ll stick out looking like a Jedi, won’t you?”

“Probably,” he said.

“Shan’t you disguise yourself, then?” she asked.

“I’m on the fence about that,” said Obi-Wan, shifting his weight. “It could work in our favor to be recognized as a Jedi. It would draw attention from you.”

“But it would draw attention _to _you,” she replied.

“That’s not always bad,” he said, scratching his beard in consideration.

She sighed at him.

“What?” he inquired of her sigh.

“You’re so maddeningly fearless,” she said. “What is it about having _the force_ that makes you think you’re above danger, above injury, or above death?”

Obi-Wan considered that a moment.

“Do you recall that a Jedi is required to forego attachment?” he said to her.

“Yes,” she replied.

“I think it’s that lack of attachment combined with compassion that allows me, and other Jedi, a certain level of fearlessness,” he said, thoughtful. “It allows us to fulfill our duties with a greater effectiveness than otherwise, for one’s greatest fears often stem from attachment to things or… people.”

“Ah,” said Padme.

“But that isn’t to say I’m perfect at it,” he quickly added.

“At what?”

“Disattachment,” he said.

“Is that a word?” she asked.

“Now it is,” he replied with a smile.

“How are you not perfect at… that abomination of a word?” she inquired, finding herself smiling back.

“It isn’t easy to remain free of attachment,” he said to her, “Not when there are so many… intriguing persons about.”

“And intriguingness is what causes you to become attached to a person?” she asked, laughing a little.

He looked vaguely embarrassed.

“No, of course not,” he said, and then, leaning back against the wall nearby, he glanced across the cluster of passengers in view. 

She found this behavior more curious.

“It can be all sorts of things,” he said, glancing back at her, as if he knew she was waiting for more. “A master who teaches you and to whom you feel you owe more than you could ever repay, a padawan to whom you feel obligated to protect and guide correctly, or even a colleague, who…”

“Who…?” she prompted.

“Well, a colleague, who you find intelligent… and gracious,” he said, and she suddenly had a chill as if she felt as if he might be talking about _her_. “Who you hold in high esteem, and who you would feel immense guilt over if, during an undercover operation, that colleague should be harmed by pirates due to your own negligence.”

She then_ knew_ he was talking about her, and she glanced askance.

“Ah,” she said, for lack of anything better to say.

“That’s attachment,” he said to her, relentless. “That is fear, and it doesn’t go away easily. I struggle with it daily. Some days are better than others.”

She leaned against the wall, too, to look at the nearby passengers, but she didn’t really see them.

“Are you admitting you’re attached to me?” she inquired, almost humorously.

She kept her eyes on the crowd as seconds ticked by with no response, and soon she began to feel a little bit stupid for asking.

He drew a short breath and she turned her head to look at him. He met her gaze, his response halted, perhaps by indecision.

“Did you know that the Blarina of Rina Major are famously accomplished liars?” he asked her.

She blinked.

“What?” she asked.

“In fact, they’re notably fond of words,” he said. “One of them finished fifth in a galaxy-wide soliloquy competition.”

“Oh?” she inquired, feeling lost.

“Naka Iit,” he said.

“Naka-what?”

“That’s his name,” he said. “The soliloquy finalist.”

She simply had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. She couldn’t believe this was what he was telling her about, right then, in this place. Using the wall as her support, she allowed the tension to leave her through her laughter, and once subdued, she glanced at him again and could see he looked pleased. His smile was infectious. Perhaps hers was, too.

_“Arriving at Hathon Station,” _said the tinny, recorded voice over the comm.

“Are you ready?” he asked her.

“No,” she replied.

“Neither am I,” he said.

“Then, let’s go,” she replied with a smile. “Your padawan will be worrying.”

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-


	3. Hathon Station Marketplace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shopping is ALWAYS fun with Obi-Wan, Padme, and Anakin... right?

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

THREE

“Where did you go?” She overheard Ani demand of Obi-Wan, once they’d found each other in the mass of passengers waiting to exit the transport.

“We were over there,” replied Obi-Wan with a careless gesture, not seeming ruffled at all by Anakin’s questioning.

Ani continued to ignore Padmé, as if she wasn’t at all welcome in his Jedi club, except he did afford her the occasional disdainful glance. She was fine with this, deciding she didn’t care for whatever stage of maturity Ani was currently in, and stayed close to Obi-Wan’s other side.

As they navigated the press of the crowd, she cinched the edge of Obi-Wan’s sleeve in her fingers to keep herself in arm’s reach. He must have felt her tug on his sleeve, for he took her hand in his instead and pulled her along until they’d breached enough space to ensure none of them would get lost.

“Now,” he said, turning to face the two of them. “What shall we do first?”

“Food,” said Anakin.

“Shopping,” said Padmé at the exact same time.

She glanced at Ani, wondering how he could think of food at a time like this. He returned her glance, seeming irritated by her suggestion.

“To get a better disguise,” she explained, gesturing to her shroud.

Anakin took one look at her shroud and then appeared as if he were trying very hard not to roll his eyes. It was infuriating, really.

“Perhaps we should first find where we will stay tonight,” suggested Obi-Wan. “We won’t leave to join the Naboo shipment until the morning.”

“I suppose,” assented Ani.

-o-o-0-o-o-

Lodging options were minimal, though not terrible, at the station, and Obi-Wan procured for them a set of two conjoined rooms in which to stay the “night”… whatever “night” meant in space.

“So,” said Obi-Wan, as they convened in the larger of the two rooms. “Shall we go to the marketplace and see what we can find?”

“Yes, but,” said Anakin, “we aren’t getting disguises, are we?”

He seemed consumed by doubt over what Padmé had said before.

“Maybe,” said Obi-Wan in a noncommittal fashion.

“Master,” said Anakin, “I must object. We’re Jedi, and we shouldn’t hide what we are.”

“But Anakin,” said Obi-Wan. “We should be cautious not to limit the completion our mission due to pride in what we are.”

“I suppose, Master,” replied Anakin, passing a sullen look towards Padme, on whom he seemed to be blaming everything he didn’t like about his mission.

“We will all have to hide our identities, not just Padmé,” declared Obi-Wan, as if he’d just finalized the decision. “I think it’s for the best.”

“I agree,” replied Padmé with a slight shrug.

“Good,” said Obi-Wan. “So… disguises and food?”

Ani appeared pleased by the inclusion of food on the agenda, and they all made haste.

-o-96-96-_-0-_-96-96-o-

The marketplace of Hathon Station was relatively robust due to the size of the station itself. Being one of the major off-world ports of Coruscant, Hathon Station couldn’t be anything _but_ robust. However, this particular station had long since fallen out of favor with the more fashionable crowd and a had a bit of a cobbled-together look about it; there were bits and pieces all over the station that had clearly either seen better days or had been salvaged from other ships and ports for reuse here. It had a weathered, used look, but was still used productively, if mostly only for those of low or frugal means. The marketplace didn’t have the finest wares (at least, not _legally_) but it did have a lot of wares to choose from, and in the chaotic mess of mish-mash stalls it was easy for one to get lost, or to lose oneself, whichever one might prefer.

“What shall we do in the morning?” Padmé asked Obi-Wan, curious for details.

“Ah,” said Obi-Wan, falling back to walk beside her as Anakin became occupied ahead of them with some form of street food on a stick. “I’ve arranged for a small transport for us to take to join the Naboo shipment. We’re going to join the crew.”

“We- we are?” inquired Padmé, not having supposed such a thing would be part of all this.

“Yes,” said Obi-Wan. “I assume you’re good at crewing?”

Padmé laughed.

“No, I’m terrible at crewing,” she replied. “But only because I don’t know what it is.”

“Then our plan is already foiled,” said Obi-Wan with a smile.

“Tell me what I’m to do,” she prompted.

“Well,” said Obi-Wan. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I think you’re quite good at negotiating.”

“I suppose,” replied Padmé.

“So, you should be involved in the negotiations,” said Obi-Wan.

“What negotiations?” asked Padmé.

“With the shipment crew,” said Obi-Wan. “You’re a merchant. A travelling one, you see.”

“Oh, am I?” asked Padmé. “Interesting. Tell me more about myself.”

“You’ve been sent from Naboo to handle the negotiations when the shipment reaches port,” said Obi-Wan. “That’ll give you a good reason to be there to look over the shipment, but also a good reason to keep to yourself when you need to.”

“Oh,” said Padmé.

“And then, when the pirates come, you can help with the real negotiations,” said Obi-Wan.

“What are those going to be like?” asked Padmé.

“Hopefully not violent,” said Obi-Wan, glancing across the stalls they walked by. His eyes came back to her and he added, “Anakin and I will be your guards. I mean, we really are, but also we will pretend to be hired guards to your merchant persona.”

“A merchant hires Jedi to guard her?” she asked.

“Not officially,” said Obi-Wan. “We will hide our true selves at first, I suppose.”

He didn’t seem very happy about that, so Padmé touched his arm.

His glance traveled to her, but slowly.

“You don’t have to wear a disguise, Obi-Wan,” she said. “Not if you don’t feel right about it.”

“It will be fine, Padmé,” he said to her, covering her hand with his. “You’re our inspiration.”

“Am I?” she inquired bemusedly.

“We will wear _shrouds_,” he replied.

Padmé laughed.

“How mysterious I will be, with shrouded guards,” she said, moving to take the shroud from her head.

“Oh, wait, wait,” said Obi-Wan, holding his hands up to stop her. “What if someone recognizes you here?”

She brushed his hands aside and said, “Senator Amidala would _not_ be caught _dead_ in this place. No one will be looking for me, and if they think I might look like the senator, it will surely be a mistake.”

Unwrapping her shroud, she draped it lightly around the nape of his neck and, holding the two ends, moved close, as if in confidence.

“I want _you_ to wear it,” she said to him.

“Shall I, then?” he inquired, as if only to keep talking.

“Yes,” she said. “You are a knight, are you not? And I am a lady?”

“Indeed,” he agreed.

“Then it’s settled,” she said, drawing back and waving a hand. “You have my favor.”

He seemed caught between smiling and not, as if he’d lost his certainty about which to do.

“Now, I need something, don’t I?” she said, turning away to the nearest clothing stall.

She felt him grasp her arm from behind and pull her to his side to face the makeshift mannequin upon which he was gazing.

“That’s it,” he said, pointing at the red-trimmed black tailored suit with gleaming silver buttons which hung on the mannequin. A dark cape hung clasped to its shoulders with a voluminous hood. It was made from thick, finely woven material.

“I suppose a relatively wealthy traveling merchant might wear that,” said Padmé, turning her head a bit sideways.

“We’ll take that,” said Obi-Wan to the worn stall matron, who nodded and began to remove it from the mannequin.

“But you’ll need more of a shroud,” said Padmé, picking up a long, gauzy piece of dark material and holding it up to Obi-Wan.

“Don’t I have this one?” he inquired, holding up the end of her shroud around his shoulders.

“That’s your under-shroud,” she determined. “It’s not enough alone.”

“Under-shroud, huh?” said Obi-Wan, with a light laugh.

She threw the larger, cloak-like shroud around him and clasped it at the shoulder. It hung mysteriously upon him, as if he were a wraith come to claim life, and not at all a Jedi. Something about it disturbed her, and he seemed to perceive it at once and looked at her curiously from the dark hood of the shroud.

She reached around his shoulder and pulled the hood of the shroud off to lie against his back.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

She shook her head a little and said, “It doesn’t feel right to hide…” and she trailed off, searching for the words momentarily, “…your _light.”_

He smiled a little at her, but it seemed bright, as if made more radiant by being hidden for a moment.

Padmé glanced down and scoffed at how ridiculous she must have sounded, but he touched her wrist and leaned closer.

“What are we going to do?” he asked, smiling wryly. “Shall I pretend not to be a Jedi but wear a shroud without shrouding myself?”

Padmé laughed and said, “You have a point, Obi-Wan. I’ll suffer through it.”

She pulled the hood up again and arranged it around him, hiding him from those who might recognize the light of a Jedi Knight. She was careful about it, as if due to her care she was making it all right, as if by being attentive it would bother her less.

Obi-Wan stood mildly and allowed her to fuss over him, and when she’d finished she found he was gazing at her, and due to the confines of the shroud, only she could see it. Something about his gaze made a shiver drive up her arms towards her heart and her hands slowed to a stop on either side of his hood, falling to his chest.

“That’ll be four hundred credits,” said the stall matron, waylaying them both with surprise and wearily holding a box out for someone, anyone, to take.

“Oh, right,” said Obi-Wan reaching for his pockets.

“No, I will handle it,” said Padmé, brushing him aside. “We will also take two of these dark shrouds.”

“Whatever floats your starship,” said the matron, sounding bored and holding out her hand for payment.

-0-0-0-0-0-.-0-0-0-0-0-

Disguised and hooded, Padmé and Obi-Wan found the idea of sneaking up on Anakin irresistible. They found him ahead of them a ways, browsing a table of bric-a-brac and eating a bun. From behind, she realized he was _quite _tall.

Obi-Wan caught her eye and gave her a wink from his shroud, and, as delightful as it was, she returned it with a smirk as they moved quickly to flank Ani on both sides. The younger Jedi tensed at once.

“Hey,” she said in a low and (she hoped) menacing voice, “Where’s your master?”

The only way Padmé could later describe what happened next was that Anakin exploded. His lightsaber ignited from nowhere and she found herself being flung violently into the nearest basket of wares by the air itself.

“Stop!” she heard Obi-Wan cry out, and the tumult stopped as suddenly as it began. The sound of a lightsaber being turned off came next.

“Master!” said Ani with surprise, and then: “Wait… was that…?”

It was at this point she felt herself being fished out of the wares basket, and soon realized it was Ani doing the fishing. He looked honestly remorseful, which was unusual for him.

“Padmé, I didn’t know…,” he said as she was righted on her feet and brushed off for good measure. “Are you alright?”

She pushed his hands away and straightened herself, mustering as much dignity as she could.

“Never sneak up in a Jedi,” she said. “I shall remember that.”

“I honestly thought there was no way you wouldn’t recognize us, Anakin,” said Obi-Wan. “You must work on your awareness.”

“Yes, Master,” said Anakin, and Padmé noticed he was shaking a little.

Obi-Wan turned to the observing shopkeeper nearby and waved his hand vaguely.

“We were never here,” he said calmly.

“You were never here,” said the shopkeeper mildly.

“Put this on,” said Obi-Wan, handing Ani the extra shroud.

Anakin obeyed without a word.

-/-/-/-/.\\-\\-\\-\\-

The rest of the evening passed with much less commotion and they found themselves back at their rooms ruminating on what the next day would bring.

“Do you think we’ll fight the pirates?” asked Ani.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Anakin,” said Obi-Wan.

“But do you think?...” he asked again.

“I should hope not,” said Padmé.

Ani seemed a little restless.

“Tomorrow we’re going to be acting as Padmé’s guards and she’s going to handle the negotiations,” said Obi-Wan.

Ani glanced at Padmé.

“So… this entire mission hinges on whether or not she can act well enough to convince them she’s a travelling merchant?” he asked, looking dubious.

“I can act,” said Padmé, feeling affronted.

“I’ve never seen you act like anything except a stuck-up senator,” said Ani.

“Hey!” objected Padmé.

“Anakin,” said Obi-Wan. “That was out of line.”

“I’m just saying,” said Ani, “she has to figure out how to act like the rest of us before she can convince anyone of anything.”

Obi-Wan sighed and looked at Padmé.

“Despite Anakin’s… _choice of words_… he does have a point, but I had just assumed you would know how to… ah… act as if you’re of lower social standing,” said Obi-Wan.

“I’m not sure what exactly you mean,” replied Padmé, and Anakin threw up his hands in frustration.

“It’s a disaster,” muttered Ani.

“Well,” said Obi-Wan, who seemed to be trying to ignore Anakin, “You could try being a bit less polished… in your speech… and perhaps bearing.”

“Indeed?” inquired Padmé.

“Lost cause,” murmured Anakin to Obi-Wan.

“For example, you could reply ‘what?’, instead of ‘indeed?’,” suggested Obi-Wan.

“I wasn’t aware we’d started already,” replied Padmé, feeling a bit annoyed.

“I don’t think she can do it,” said Ani.

“Do not presume you can tell me what I can or cannot do, Anakin Skywalker,” she chided, nearing the end of her patience.

Anakin folded his arms and opted for silence.

Obi-Wan observed her thoughtfully for a moment, and then leaned toward her a bit.

“Try this,” he said, holding up a finger. “Do you remember the old sales matron tonight at the stall?”

“Yes,” said Padmé, touching her black and red-trimmed suit, “the one where we bought this.”

Obi-Wan nodded and smiled.

“And you got that,” she said, touching his shroud at the shoulder, and then the _under-shroud_ she’d given him which still draped around his neck, “and _this._”

“Yes,” said Obi-Wan, though his voice softened slightly when he said it, as if remembering.

Padmé fought against warmth in her face. 

“Do you think you could act like her?” he asked. “The matron?”

“I don’t care what you lot do,” she said, taking on a long-suffering look, “So long as the credits are valid and plentiful.”

Obi-Wan laughed in delight.

“Quite right,” he said. “I think that’ll do.”

Padmé smirked at Anakin, who seemed to be amused by her impression despite himself.

“Fine,” said Ani, “This _might _work, after all.”

I-i-I-i-I-i-I-i-I-i-I


	4. On a Small Transport

I-i-I-i-I-i-I-i-I-i-I

FOUR:

The next day, Padmé found herself sitting on a padded bench in the corridor of a small transport with plenty of time to ponder her most recent life choices. Through an archway she could partially see the backs of Obi-Wan and Anakin as they milled about with copiloting the ship, and nearby was a small droid. This droid was rummaging around in the guts of an opened panel, plugging and unplugging wires and cleeping at the occasional spark.

She felt a little bit ignored.

That, of course, was a ridiculous thing to feel and she shoved that away the instant it reared its ugly head in her psyche, and she stood to stare out a small window at the space passing her by. They would reach the Naboo shipment in not too many clicks, she wagered, and she hoped the merchants weren’t too familiar with what the former Queen of Naboo looked like. She felt a twinge in her brow and felt the sting of a headache coming on.

“Are you bored yet?” she heard Obi-Wan say behind her.

Glancing into the window’s reflection, she saw his form in it like a mirror; his gaze was upon her, open and kind… like always. She turned to face him and smiled.

“Yes,” she replied, proclaiming: “I am bored.”

“Well, I could give you something to do-,” he almost finished saying, but she stepped toward him and cut him off.

“Do you think they’ll recognize me?” she asked him, allowing some of her fears out.

Obi-Wan looked at her, considering. He glanced over her disguise, her merchant’s suit with a cape, and then her face, and he stopped at her hair, his gaze lingering there. He stepped closer and lifted a hand.

“What if…,” he began, moving a hand to touch the bunned braid at the nape of her neck, “you were to let this down.”

Padmé ignored the shiver that went up her spine at his touch. She was becoming very good at that.

“What do you mean,” she inquired, perhaps too politely.

“Well, I,” he said, lacking completion, and then he moved behind her. She could feel his gentle pull at the pins that held her braid in place as he removed them one by one. Feeling the braid release, he unwound it and eased it forward over her shoulder to lie in a long plait and came around once again to her view.

“Like that,” he said, handing her a half dozen pins.

“I suppose it is rather plebeian,” mused Padmé, considering she never would wear her hair like _that_.

Obi-Wan grinned at her.

“It doesn’t look half-bad,” replied Obi-Wan, waving an aloof hand.

“It doesn’t matter if I look lovely or terrible,” said Padmé. “It only matters if I get the job done.”

“Ah, there’s the practical senator,” said Obi-Wan. “But as far as ‘lovely’ or ‘terrible’… you only ever look one of the two, and I shan’t reveal which one it is.”

Padmé laughed at that.

“Stop flattering me,” said Padmé, “I don’t know what you’re after, but you’re not getting it.”

“Oh, but I’ve already gotten what I wanted,” said Obi-Wan, smiling.

“Have you?” she asked.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Oh, _stars,_” replied Padmé, feeling exasperated, “Don’t remind me.”

Now it was his turn to laugh. She found herself enjoying his laugh more and more. She liked it when he was happy, and perhaps she liked it _too much_. She found herself wanting to make him smile as much as she could. It was _concerning_, to say the least.

“How long have we until we reach the shipment vessel?” she asked.

“Hmn,” said Obi-Wan, taking a glance at the squat droid nearby. “What do you think 3-NF?”

The droid squeebled and prinked a vague reply to the tune of about two clicks.

“Mn,” said Padmé in disapproval, “I’m going to need something to do else I might lose my mind.”

“We can’t have that,” said Obi-Wan. “Come with me and we’ll check the outer hull casing signals.”

“That sounds even worse than nothing!” objected Padmé.

“Have you ever done it before?” inquired Obi-Wan.

“No,” relented Padmé.

“Then,” said Obi-Wan. “You can’t say you don’t like it. Come on.”

They started to move towards the back door exiting the causeway, when Anakin stopped them from the starboard.

“Where are you two going?” asked Anakin, as if they had to ask his permission to do _anything. _

“Repairs,” relayed Obi-Wan with little explanation. Really it was almost as little explanation as possible, and Padmé liked him more for it.

“I could help too,” said Anakin, moving to leave the piloting starboard.

“No, no,” said Obi-Wan, holding up a hand, “You should stay in the cockpit, just in case something comes up. We’ll be fine.”

“Oh,” said Anakin, glancing between Padmé and Obi-Wan. He didn’t look like he wanted to relent. “If you’re sure…”

“Besides,” added Obi-Wan, “there’s really only room for two to work in the casing signal unit.”

That didn’t seem to make Anakin feel any better about it, in fact he looked more agitated. Padmé found this quite interesting. Anakin shifted his gaze to her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” demanded Anakin, appearing a little affronted. 

“Like what, exactly?” inquired Padmé, putting on her best diplomat’s face.

Anakin gave her a dark look and moved to go back into the starboard.

“Nothing,” said Anakin, and he disappeared.

She had a faint niggling like she wanted to go after him, to find out what was bothering him, or even just to tease him more, but she shrugged it off and went with Obi-Wan.

“He’s been a little grumpy lately, would you say?” she asked Obi-Wan as they moved towards the casing signal control room.

“Yes,” said he replied, thoughtful. “I think he’s … going through some things.”

“Oh?” asked Padmé, curious.

Obi-Wan just nodded, but didn’t elaborate, and she was left to stew in her own confusion.

It was true what Obi-Wan said about only two being able to fit in the casing signal unit. The idea of putting Anakin in here as well brought to mind a can of sardines. The unit was lined with open panels of machinery, of fuses and relays and wires of all types, and she knew not what a single bit of it did. Obi-Wan pulled a case from the wall and put it in her hands, opening it to reveal a set of battered tools.

“If you would hold this, it would be most helpful,” he said with a smile.

“Good,” said Padmé. “I was afraid you were going to ask me to help you fix something.”

“Not a fixer, are you?” he asked, picking out a tool with a flanged end. 

“That isn’t what I’ve been trained to do, no,” she replied.

He opened one of the few panels which weren’t already opened and began tinkering with the wires inside.

“But not even in your spare time?” he asked.

“Not more than the average person, I don’t think,” she said. “Or maybe not even as much as the average person.”

He glanced at her.

“That needs to change, now,” he said.

“No, it doesn’t,” she objected.

He grinned at her and gestured to the open panel. She gave him a very dry look.

“Come on,” he said, gesturing with the tool. “It’s useful to know.”

She heaved a sigh.

“Fine,” she said, closing the box of tools and placing it back on the wall. She approached Obi-Wan and his panel of madness and began to inspect it. “What am I looking at? I really have no idea what I’m looking at.”

“These are the relays that power the outer hull shields,” he said, coming beside her and pointing out several things that looked like black tubes which plugged into different ports. “In order to keep the shields functioning properly, the relays have to be refreshed.”

“And how does one refresh a relay?” she inquired, hoping that was the most logical question to ask next, and trying, in this proximity, to ignore the bas relief of his earthen scent.

“Like this,” he said, pulling one from one end of its port and using the flanged tool to turn the end connect clockwise. He then plugged the relay back into the next port to the right.

“Ah,” said Padmé, thinking to herself that it looked like tedious work.

“Now you try,” he said.

“Uhm…” said Padmé.

“You can do it,” he said with a chuckle.

“I know I can do it,” she retorted, “but the question is: do I want to do it?”

“And the answer is ‘yes’,” said Obi-Wan serenely, as if this were a lesson in Jedi meditations.

She couldn’t stop herself from snorting at him.

“The things you get me to do,” she muttered, reaching her hand up into the knot of relays.

“Do that one,” he said.

“Which one?” she asked, running her fingers over the chaos of loops.

“There,” he said, pointing to one near her hand.

She pulled it from its base and the ship bucked in protest, shoving her into the panel with Obi-Wan close behind.

“Ack!” she cried, wondering if she’d killed them all.

“Not that way!” he said, reaching around her to plug the base of the loop back into its socket.

The ship stabilized and she became aware of how close they were and of the sound of his breathing, faint against the side of her neck. She shoved traitorous thoughts away.

“I only did what you told me to do,” said Padmé defensively.

Obi-Wan was quiet a moment, then said with extra-patience, “The top socket, not the base. You’ll disrupt the whole ship’s power supply that way.”

“So I noticed,” she replied, glancing askance to catch a glimpse of Obi-Wan over her shoulder. “Are you sure this is something I should learn?”

He chuckled and pulled away, the adrenaline of the moment over for now. Padmé turned her back to the panels and leaned on them, crossing her arms to regard Obi-Wan. He still appeared flustered, if only some.

“Perhaps you can just hold the toolbox…,” he said, pulling the toolbox from the wall again and handing it to her. “For now.”

She smiled and handed him the flanged tool she still had in her hand.

“What are you doing in here?” demanded Anakin from the doorway, surprising them both. “Whatever you did knocked us out of light speed!”

“Ah,” said Obi-Wan, “I pulled out the relay base by mistake.”

Anakin stared at Obi-Wan.

“How could you do that?” he asked. “That’s a mistake only an idiot would make!”

“Who are you calling an ‘idiot’?” Padmé found herself demanding of the padawan. Anakin’s fury turned on her like dragon fire.

“Whoever was stupid enough to pull out the relay by the base!” he replied.

“Obi-Wan is your master!” retorted Padmé. “You should never talk to him like that!”

“Maybe he’s not the one I’m calling an idiot,” replied Anakin, folding his arms.

“What!” cried Padmé.

“Am I right in assuming you _know_ I couldn’t have been the one to pull the relay base, Anakin?” inquired Obi-Wan.

“Yes, master,” said Anakin, briefly submissive. “It was obvious because I know you well enough to know you wouldn’t make that mistake, and I also know you well enough to know you would cover for… _her_.”

“You will not refer to Senator Amidala as an idiot,” said Obi-Wan and it was instantly clear to all present that on this he would not budge. It was a rare moment of Obi-Wan taking and using his absolute authority. “Or any like disparaging term.”

“Yes, master,” said Anakin, appearing chastened to some degree. “But she could have destabilized the ship.”

“There was no real danger,” said Obi-Wan. “I was here the whole time to be sure.”

“Of course, you were,” said Anakin, his rebelliousness beginning to rise again. “You’re _always_ with her.”

Obi-Wan blinked and seemed momentarily surprised by Anakin’s statement.

“How can he not be?” asked Padmé, coming to Obi-Wan’s rescue, or so she hoped. “We’re on a tiny transport. Where else shall I go? In the cargo hold?”

“If you’d like,” said Anakin with a smirk.

“I’d like to put _you_ in the cargo hold,” threatened Padmé.

“Ha, I’d like to see you try,” said Anakin.

“Oh, perhaps I don’t do everything with _brute force_, like you, but I could make it happen in the Senate… and for a _long time_,” said Padmé.

“Are you proposing having me put away in a cargo hold… _through legislative means?_” asked Anakin in disbelief.

“Don’t mess with a senator, Anakin,” said Obi-Wan, who looked very entertained.

Anakin threw his hands up and said, “It’s too small in here for the three of us,” and stalked out.

“Don’t blow up the ship!” he yelled from the distance.

Padmé stole a glance at Obi-Wan in Anakin’s absence as they both attempted to stifle their mirth. It wouldn’t be nice to share mirth at Anakin’s expense behind his back. It just _wouldn’t. _

“The bottom line is,” said Obi-Wan, “don’t disconnect the relays by the base.”

“Lesson learned,” said Padmé, and then, considering, she decided to change tack: “Obi-Wan…”

“Yes?” he asked, moving to inspect the panel relays again.

“Do you detect some… I don’t know… _imbalance_ in Ani?” she asked carefully.

Obi-Wan didn’t reply for a moment.

“Yes,” he said while resetting a relay with the flange.

“He seems very quick to anger,” she said.

Obi-Wan reset the next relay, his hands practiced and careful.

“It doesn’t seem very Jedi-like,” added Padmé.

She watched him draw a breath and let it out, and then he moved on to the next relay. His lack of response stretched out until she felt a twinge of anxiety.

“Would you like to try this one?” asked Obi-Wan, pointing to the next relay tube.

“If you think that’s wise,” she said cautiously.

“Of course, how shall you learn if you don’t make mistakes, first?” he asked, smiling at her.

Padmé nodded, still unsure, and reached her hand into the panel, touching the relay tube with her fingers, but not pulling anything out, not yet. Obi-Wan put his hand over hers, guiding her fingers to the correct port, and she pulled it out with a jerk.

Breathless, she waited for the ship to explode. It didn’t.

She glanced over her shoulder at Obi-Wan in triumph.

“It looks like that was the right one,” said Obi-Wan, amused.

He handed her the flanged tool.

“Ah,” said Padmé, unsure with the tool. “Shall I do it like this?”

“Here,” he said, again placing his hand over hers to guide the clockwise turn with the flange. “Now, place it in the next port over.”

“This one?” she asked, hovering.

“There,” he said, close, almost surrounding her in his guidance. She could smell him, feel him, and there was no time when Obi-Wan was more in his element than when providing instruction. She felt his ease with it, and how much he enjoyed teaching her something that was so simple, yet so new to her.

She docked the relay tube in the right port with a dull click.

“I did it,” she said, feeling the radiance of the smile on her face. She felt almost silly being so proud of something so small, but she was.

“Try another one,” he said, and then pointing, his hand brushing her wrist, “This one.”

“Yes, master,” she said jokingly, and he laughed a little, quietly, beside her.

The second relay was much easier than the first. She understood quickly how it was to be done, and realized it wasn’t as complicated as it looked at first glance. As she moved onto the third Obi-Wan began to speak.

“If I were to disallow you to try again after your initial failure, you would never have learned anything,” said Obi-Wan. “It is through overcoming mistakes and failure that skill is built. In fact, perhaps it is better to have more struggle and overcome it in the end than to learn with ease.”

Though he was over her shoulder, she could see him glance at her in her peripheral vision.

“It’s so with Anakin,” said Obi-Wan.

She paused in her fourth relay and glanced at him.

“He struggles,” Obi-Wan told her, “but I believe if he can overcome he will be one of the greatest Jedi that have ever been.”

That seemed difficult to imagine, because there were so many powerful Jedi already.

His voice softened, “It is because he struggles that he has that potential.”

“Because…,” considered Padmé, “it is in the overcoming that true power is created?”

He went quiet and she waited for a response, until finally she turned to look at him. He gazed at her with something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “That is exactly right.”

Padmé didn’t know what was transpiring between them, but Obi-Wan seemed very intent upon her. She decided to vent the intensity of the moment with deflection.

“Are you trying to say you’ve been using all of this relay business to teach me a life lesson?” she asked, waving the flanging tool at the panel.

Obi-Wan smiled and chuckled.

“I can’t seem to help it,” he said.

“Well,” said Padmé with a return smile, “you’re quite good at teaching. I believe I can finish these relays and… possibly… have a bit more tolerance for Anakin’s _shenanigans_, as well.”

“Only a little bit,” said Obi-Wan. “He could use you keeping him on his toes.”

“Then,” said Padmé, pointing to the tools with her flange, “Would you hold that toolbox for me, Assistant Kenobi? I’ve got work to do.”

Obi-Wan laughed and complied, easy to be entreated.

\--00—99—00—99—00—99—


	5. Madame Negotiator

FIVE:

“This ring…” said Padmé, handling the kyber crystal ring that Obi-Wan had obtained, “Who do you think it belongs to?”

Obi-Wan glanced down at her hands as he sat beside her in the bench at the back of the cockpit. Anakin guided them into docking with the Naboo shipping vessel.

“If I were to guess,” he said, “I’d say someone in the Senate.”

She turned it over in her fingers. It looked worn, well-used, but used for what?

“Do you think it’s someone who can use the _force_?” she asked.

“Maybe,” he said, and then added: “Probably.”

She glanced up at him for his indecision and grinned at him. He returned her grin and shrugged.

“I suppose we’ll find out,” he offered.

“It could have just had sentimental value,” she said, placing it on her pointer finger and looking it over. It was large and hung from her finger, clearly a man’s ring. “I can’t imagine someone would want it for ornamentation. It’s not very nice.”

Obi-Wan chuckled.

“Who are you to decide what’s not nice?” asked Anakin distractedly as he aligned their transport with the larger vessel.

She rolled her eyes and chose to ignore the padawan.

Obi-Wan took her hand in both of his and lifted the ring closer for inspection.

“If I were to guess, I would think it’s been used,” said Obi-Wan.

“Used?” inquired Padmé.

“Yes,” said Obi-Wan. “Used with the force.”

“How in the world would someone use a kyber crystal like this?” asked Padmé, staring at the ring.

“I suppose anything is possible,” said Obi-Wan, his eyes on the crystal.

Padme glanced at Obi-Wan.

“Why don’t you try it?” she asked.

Obi-Wan stared at her.

“Try what?” he asked, though he seemed to know what she was getting at.

“Try to use it,” she said, feeling a little smile tug at her lips.

He opened his mouth as if he didn’t know what to say.

“He’s not attuned to that kyber crystal, Padmé,” said Anakin, deep in his docking maneuvers. “He can’t use it.”

She felt a twinge of annoyance at Anakin’s intervention, but soldiered on.

“It doesn’t look like anyone is,” she said with a shrug, “so why not try? Maybe you’ll learn something. Maybe you’ll _sense_ something.”

Obi-Wan smiled at her, a small thing. He slid the ring from her finger, and it disappeared into his fist.

“Maybe,” he said, without commitment.

There was a shudder and a large clunk as the sound of machinery and metal being rounded into place echoed through the cockpit. They were secured, docked against the Naboo ship.

Padmé drew a great breath and heaved it out, calming herself and telling herself this was just like all those times she had to speak in front of the Senate. She had been pretending to be something she was not since before she could remember, and she was good at it, or else she would have never been elected as Queen, or as Senator.

“Well, there we are,” said Anakin as he stood, enlivened by the prospect of some excitement. He removed the cockpit transmitter from his temple and tossed it on the controls, secured his lightsaber, and grabbed his cowl. For a brief moment, she envied his wanton enjoyment of the type of situation she found to be extremely stressful.

Turning to Obi-Wan, she saw he was already watching her, perhaps with concern. She smiled at him in assurance and pulled his shroud up to hide his comely face.

\--8—8—8—8—8—8—8—

At the docking port door, Padme stood in the center with Obi-Wan and Anakin flanking her sides, shrouded like the mysterious guards of a traveling merchant. She checked the braid, slung plebeian-like over her shoulder, and she rounded and laid back her posture unevenly, as if she were used to getting what she wants and bored with the prospect of standing.

The doors slid open with a hiss and mist streamed out between the ships, equalizing pressure and atmosphere. After a moment, she made out a couple of ship workers, one a security detail and the other appeared to be administrative, standing in the doorway.

“We’ve been messaged that you’ve come to check on our shipments, ah… Miss -- er,” began the administrative fellow.

Padme wasted no time approaching the ship and stepping aboard. She glanced around, taking it in. It was standard for shipping cargo, no frills, and none of the cargo was visible from where she stood, only a long hallway on either side.

“Kensky Wan, thank you,” she clipped, as if she didn’t have time for this. “Where are the shipments?”

“We will need your orders, if you will,” said the fellow, though his voice was weak.

She approached him and glanced him up and down, and she watched as he wilted beneath her scrutiny. She wondered for a moment if he had something in his past he didn’t want to come out. This appeared to be too easy.

“What is your name?” she inquired.

“Ah, Corjoh, ma’am,” he said.

She gazed at him a moment, then said, “Well, Corjoh. My orders have been sent to you already, so if you would take the time to review them, you will see everything has been arranged. I’m to handle the negotiations once we reach port. Apparently, they weren’t handled very well last time. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“No, ma’am,” he replied.

“Would you show me to my quarters, please?” she clipped.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Corjoh, “right this way.”

Her quarters were relatively nice, for a shipping vessel, and held a suite of rooms consisting of a working room with a desk and holo, a bedroom with a small ‘fresher, and a servants’ quarter. It was more than she’d expected.

“Will this suffice, Ms. Wan?” asked Corjoh.

“Call me Kensky,” she replied, gracing him with a tight smile.

“Kensky,” he replied, but seemed very uncomfortable calling her that.

“It will do,” she said, dismissing him.

Once the door was shut, she noticed Anakin relax, but she didn’t… not yet. She turned to them both abruptly.

“Search the quarters for eavesdropping devices immediately,” she ordered, maintaining Kensky’s character.

The Jedi understood and ransacked the place in search of bugs.

Padme sat down at the desk and began pulling up blueprints of the ship on the holo. As long as she had time, she was going to know the layout of the ship and what exactly it was carrying and where before anything happened with _pirates. _

“It’s clear,” she heard Obi-Wan call from the other room.

She let out a sigh of relief before she realized she’d done it. As Obi-Wan came into the room to join her, she noticed the blue of the holo reflected on his face as he eyed it with interest.

“Studying already?” he inquired.

She smiled.

“You were better than I could have imagined,” he said to her, his eyes still on the holo.

“It was easy,” she demurred.

He glanced at her.

“It wouldn’t be easy for everyone,” he replied. “I’m glad to have you with us.”

Padmé felt like blushing, but she refused to do so.

“I guess that’s right,” said Anakin, loping into the room and plopping himself down in a chair on the other side of the desk to regard the holo. His eyes traveled intently over the ship’s plans, appearing to memorize it all in one mental swoop. Distractedly, he added: “I mean, you did better than I thought you would.”

“Thanks,” said Padmé, hardly feeling it.

He shrugged, as if he’d done her a great favor.

Padmé stood and clicked off the holo, pretending not to notice Anakin had been studying it. Turning to Obi-Wan, she smiled.

“So, what do we do now?” She asked him, ignoring Anakin’s grunt of protest.

Obi-Wan rubbed his chin in consideration. “Well, I suppose we could do whatever we want,” he said. “We could stay in here, or wander the ship.”

“Basically, we’re just waiting for the pirates to arrive?” asked Padmé.

“Basically, yes,” said Obi-Wan.

“What about food?” asked Anakin, switching the holo back on.

Padmé groaned in exasperation.

“Have you never been on a ship before?” She asked him. “Of course, they’ll feed us.”

“You know I’ve been on a ship before,” he replied, glowering and flicking through blueprints stored in the holo database. “I was just wondering when.”

Waving a hand, she said, “I’ll go find out.”

“Not alone, you won’t,” said Obi-Wan, interjecting himself.

“As you like,” allowed Padmé.

“You can handle this, Master?” asked Anakin, who didn’t seem to want to go anywhere with Padmé at the moment.

“Yes,” replied Obi-Wan. “And I suppose you can study those plans while we’re gone.”

“Thank you, Master.”

Obi-Wan nodded and glanced to Padmé.

“Shall we away?” he inquired.

Padmé chuckled and opened the door.

-/-:-/-:-/-:-/-:-/-:-/-:-/-

As the door shut behind them, Padme had a sudden feeling of being alone with Obi-Wan, even though she wasn’t. There was a whole ship of cargo freight workers around, somewhere.

“Now, I wonder where we are to find whoever is in charge, here,” murmured Padme, halfway to herself.

Obi-Wan glanced down the hall towards what looked to be an opening.

“Let’s try that,” agreed Padme, and they moved through it to find themselves in a cavernous space filled with aisles of supply crates.

“This must be the docking port,” said Obi-Wan.

At first, all they could see were various droids working the shipments, moving boxes around, counting things, arranging wires, changing sockets, but as they wandered down the aisles, they eventually came into view of an observation deck. Through the window of the deck, the man spotted them and stood up. He pulled a comm toward his mouth and they heard a crackling over the system.

“Who are you?” he asked though his disembodied comm voice.

Padme glanced at Obi-Wan.

“How are we supposed to reply?” she asked.

“Yell?” offered Obi-Wan.

Padme rolled her eyes, and instead started walking towards the observation deck. Obi-Wan followed along with his shroud. The man watched her warily, and as she got closer, she noticed him glance at a rifle sitting near his chair. Padme lifted her hands in a peaceful gesture and came up to the door.

“I’m the negotiator,” she said through the plexi-door, wondering if he could hear.

Apparently, he did, for he opened the door and welcomed them in.

“Well, why didn’t you say that at the beginning?” he asked.

“Because you wouldn’t have heard me,” she replied.

“Ah,” said he. “Well, how can I help you?”

“I need a list of exactly what you’ve got and where,” she said, sitting in a chair and crossing one leg over the other.

“Don’t you already have the docking files?” he asked.

“You know those are never accurate,” she said, gazing out over the busy droids in the cargo hold. “I figured only you would know what we _really_ have, here.”

“Ah, yes,” he said, perhaps looking a little puffed up over her words, “I suppose you would be right about that.”

She gave him a tight smile.

“Do you have a holo I can look at?” she asked.

He sat down in the other chair and flipped a switch. A holo with charts flickered into view, and Padme fell to absorbing them as quickly as she could. After a few moments she noticed the man start to shift.

“So,” he said.

“Hm?” she inquired half-heartedly as she turned to another page of holo, using the flip-knob.

“What’s a pretty lady like you doing negotiating for a boring shipment like this?” he asked.

His question made her look up from her work and observe him properly for the first time. He was reasonably young, she realized, and not terrible-looking. Definitely not her type, though. She realized she’d have to cut this off at the head.

“All in a day’s work,” she said, finishing with the files and flicking off the holo.

“What about after a day’s work?” he asked. “There’s a decent cantina down on the mess deck.”

She chuckled.

“Maybe I’ll see you there,” she said.

“Tonight, then?” he asked.

“Oh,” she said, feigning ignorance, “You were asking me on a date?”

“Or… not?” he inquired, faltering.

“It’s just that I don’t think my beau over here would approve,” she replied, indicating Obi-Wan with a vague wave of her hand.

Obi-Wan must not have expected this, for he emitted a vague choking noise from within his shroud.

“He’s the jealous type and, as you know, works in defense and security,” she said. “He’s a mercenary.”

“Ah,” said the man, clearing his throat. “I did not mean to offend.”

The man stood at once and moved further away from Padme, which she found a little amusing.

“Is that all you need, ma’am?” he asked, at once very formal.

Padme stood.

“Yes, thank you,” she replied, and then gave Obi-Wan a little smile as they left.

Once out of earshot, Padme felt apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I felt it was the best way to shut him down.”

“It only took me by surprise for a moment,” he replied, “but it was quite a moment.”

Padme laughed.

“But if you think about it, it makes it even less likely that they might suspect you for what you really are,” she said.

“Yes, you’re right,” he replied. “But shall we visit that cantina?”

“I think we shall,” she replied. “Wouldn’t that be the best place to learn what’s really going on around this vessel?”

“It certainly sounds like an interesting place,” he said.

They walked in silence for a moment as Padme hesitated to bring up her next thought.

“Should we get Ani?” she asked.

“I think he would revolt if he knew we got food and left him out,” said Obi-Wan.

Padme sighed.

“I suppose you’re right,” she said, though she wasn’t looking forward to an evening of being antagonized by Obi-Wan’s padawan.

It must have showed because Obi-Wan took her arm.

“Well,” he said, “We could go and not tell him.”

Padme stared at Obi-Wan.

“You would do that?” she asked.

“I’m just saying,” he said, gesturing with one hand.

“Oh,” she said, a thought occurring to her, “We could bring him take-away.”

“We could,” he said, non-committal, “Or just have it sent to our rooms for him.”

“Or that,” she said. “And send him lots, so he can’t complain. Or at least we won’t hear him complaining because we don’t be there.”

“I think you might be a bad influence on me,” he said to her thoughtfully.

Padme laughed.

“No, please, don’t tell me that!” she said to him, feeling as if the mere suggestion would fill her with anxiety. He patted her arm with his free hand.

“He’ll live for one evening studying the holos and eating takeaway,” said Obi-Wan, and his neglect of his padawan was final. “We’ll make less of a stir, just the two of us. Our mission is to gather information that might help us find out who’s behind the pirates about to attack. We’re also to see if there’s anyone on board who might be in league with the pirates. Keep an eye out for anyone behaving, I don’t know, _secretively_.”

“I can do that,” she said.

o-90-06-90-06-90-06-90-06-90-o

The cantina was small and crowded, filled with a dense atmosphere that was equal parts humidity and smoke. Padme didn’t think it was something that she normally would have liked, but tonight was rather exciting. She found she was enjoying the experience of subterfuge with Obi-Wan. Well, she was enjoying it _so far_, at least. Who knew what it would be like once pirates started shooting at them. “Not enjoyable” was her guess. For now, however, she was able to file future anxiety away and enjoy the moment.

She and Obi-Wan sauntered their way into the cantina and sat on one side of a booth in a good location for inconspicuous eavesdropping. As they began to watch and listen, a tall, narrow alien with a lap apron arrived at the small table.

The alien, who looked to Padme like a person-sized version of a stick-like insect from Naboo, asked more casually than any insect ever has, “What’ll you have?” 

“Whatever you’re serving,” replied Padme, as if she didn’t care and had done this many times before.

“Eh, well, alright,” said the stick-man, and he wandered off.

“Well, that might end up adventurous,” said Obi-Wan, looking amused.

“We don’t have to drink whatever it is,” she said, leaning back and crossing a leg over the other.

“Unless we want to,” offered Obi-Wan.

She chuckled. “Right,” she agreed, “Unless we want to.”

She blinked, realizing she’d already forgotten an extremely important element.

“Oh,” she said, “we can’t forget to send food to Anakin!”

“Definitely not,” said Obi-Wan, “or he’ll have our heads.”

The barhand came back with a couple of tankards of something vaguely beige and alcoholic.

“There you go, two mugs of Corellian Hooch,” he said, plopping them down on the table in front of Obi-Wan and Padme.

“I’d also like a couple of dinners sent to my rooms, if you would,” said Padme, passing several credits to the barhand.

“Later, or…?” he asked.

“Now, if you would,” she said, and then added: “and add a dessert selection, please?”

“What about Corellian Hooch?” Obi-Wan asked her.

“Ah,” she said, wondering what Obi-Wan was about, “and I suppose Corellian Hooch, as well.”

She tossed in another credit, assuming it was able to cover all that and a few more things.

The stick-barhand scooped up the credits and said, “Sure, where am I sending it?”

“I’m the negotiator for the goods, Kensky Wan,” said Padme.

“Oh,” said the barhand, glancing her over. Finally, he winked. “Right, the _negotiator._”

Obi-Wan gave him a second look at that.

“Yeah,” the barhand said, “I’ll have that sent right out.”

As he left, Obi-Wan leaned into her shoulder.

“Okay,” he said quietly.

“Indeed,” she said, then glanced down at the tankard in her hands. “So… Corellian Hooch, huh?”

“Ever had it?” he asked her.

“No,” she said, “and that’s by choice.”

He laughed.

“There’s a reason it’s sold elsewhere than Corellia, you know,” he said.

“What’s that?” she asked.

He glanced down into his mug, swirling around its contents. “Well, it’s not taste,” he said.

She leaned her elbow on the table and rested her head in her palm to look at him.

“If not taste, then what?” she inquired.

“You are aware that Corellians are renowned for being able to hold their liquor, aren’t you?” he asked.

She laughed at that.

“So it’s extra spirits?” she asked. “That’s all it is? It just makes you extra sick in the morning?”

“Unless you’re Corellian, I suppose,” he replied.

“And you had me send that to Anakin!” she said, pushing his shoulder.

“He needed something to wash down all that food, I’m sure,” said Obi-Wan, taking a drink of his hooch.

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to try it, for the cultural experience, of course,” she said, sniffing her tankard.

“Definitely for the cultural experience,” he agreed.

Taking a sip, she grimaced at the harshness of the drink, and heard Obi-Wan chuckling at her reaction.

“My stars, who would drink that willingly,” she muttered.

“People who have nothing else to drink, I suppose,” he said with the shrug, turning his gaze out across the cantina. 

They both went silent as they became embroiled in the same purpose: observing who was in the cantina and overhearing anything that might be said.

Padme looked over the suspects around the place. There were a few sullen fellows at the bar, not conversing at all; a few groups of two or three at tables, chatting high and low; and there was a rowdy group having a gamble at a table on the other side. That last group was the biggest and the loudest.

“I do wonder, myself,” said Obi-Wan, breaking her out of her thoughts. She glanced over at him and saw that his eyes were on the big group, as well.

“Should we check it out?” she asked.

“Let’s,” said Obi-Wan, standing with his tankard in his hand.

They approached as casually as they could, coming to the back of the observing crowd and remaining unnoticed, as far as they could tell. Everyone seemed to be engrossed in a game of dice happening on the table between two men.

One of the men threw and, even though Padme didn’t understand the rules, she could tell through universal language who had won. The other man cheered, and the crowd laughed as he pulled in his winnings.

“Well, if it isn’t Madame Negotiator,” said a slightly familiar voice from behind Padme. She turned and saw the youngish man from the docking bay grinning at her and raising his own tankard of hooch in her direction.

She gave him a sideways grin.

“You found me,” she said.

“The negotiator, eh?” said another fellow from nearby, and then another called out, “The negotiator’s here!”

Suddenly Padme had a lot more attention than she wanted.

“Oh yeah,” said the docking bay man, “that’s _Madame Negotiator_ to you, and her, uh _bodyguard._”

Several observers laughed at the man’s introduction, but Obi-Wan took it in stride, nodding vaguely and lifting his tankard a little in silent greeting.

Their attention made Padme nervous, so she evaded further inquiries into her and Obi-Wan by turning her eyes to the table.

“How do you play?” she asked, giving the dice a little nod.

The men seemed quite interested in the idea of having an inexperienced and also relatively wealthy player at their table and they moved right away to make room for her.

“Have a seat!” called one, dusting off a chair for her.

Padme only hesitated a moment before taking the chair offered. The crowd cheered.

“I’m joining as well,” said Obi-Wan from behind her, bringing his own chair and strong-arming himself into being on Padme’s right hand.

“Do you know how to play this?” she muttered at him under the din of the crowd.

“No idea,” he said. He seemed amused, yet alert.

On her left was the man who’d just won a pile of credits, and dockbay man sat across from her. They explained to her the rules of the game. Each player would first make a bet, and then make a demand bet from his opponents. If they couldn’t come to an agreement on the final bet, there was no deal and the game was over. If they did, they rolled to see who won.

The game was called “Negotiation”, which caused everyone great amusement, what with _Madame Negotiator_ in attendance.

“Alright, place your bets,” said dockbay man.

Everyone threw in a few credits.

“And let the demands begin,” he said, rubbing his hands.

The winning man from last round piped up first, pointing at Obi-Wan, “Ten extra credits from you.”

Obi-Wan observed him and said, “No.”

“Eight,” said winning man.

“Five or nothing,” he said.

“Fine,” said the man.

Obi-Wan plunked five more credits on the table, then turned his attention dockbay man.

“Seven from you,” he said.

“Only if you put in two more,” said dockbay man.

“Fine.”

Plunk.

“I think it would only be fair if you were to put in seven, yourself,” said Padme to the winning man.

“Why should I?” asked winning man.

“To even it up, of course,” said Padme.

“I kind of like it how it is,” said winning man.

“Well, then, I guess we’re done here,” she said, and began to stand. It seemed all at once as if everyone was opposed to her leaving, as this was far more interesting than anything before, and they all started complaining at the winning man.

“Now, wait, wait,” said winning man, “Fine. Fine, _here._”

He plunked down his seven credits with a mutter, cowed by the masses. 

“I guess that’s why they call you _Madame Negotiator_,” he said. “You’re cold as ice.”

The crowd laughed.

“My turn,” said dockbay man, and he was looking at Padme. “My demand of _Madame Negotiator _is a kiss.”

The crowd roared with surprise and amusement over the audacity of dockbay man.

Padme lifted an eyebrow.

“Is that all?” she asked, as if amused. “Done.”

Laughter and some scattered applause rose through the onlookers, and Dockbay shifted, looking as if he’d realized maybe he’d made a bad deal.

“Right, well, I can’t buy another bottle of hooch with a kiss, but whatever,” said Winning, picking up the dice. He rolled moderately well to the cheers of some of his friends and leaned back in his chair, satisfied, yet tense.

Dockbay grabbed the dice and, after a few seconds of rolling them around in his fist, he scattered them on the table to a moment of vacuum, then a roar from the audience. It was high; a few points off-perfect. Winning let out a loud groan as Dockbay pumped his fist and smacked the hands of a few friends. Dockbay gathered the dice and slid them to Padme’s side.

“Madame Negotiator, I believe it’s your turn,” he said, with the glow of the victorious.

“Very well,” she said, taking the dice into her hand. She rolled, and it wasn’t enough, so she grimaced and ignored the excitement of the crowd and passed the dice to Obi-Wan.

“You’re my only hope,” she whispered to him.

He winked at her from beneath his shroud and took the dice. Clearing his throat, the began to shake the dice.

“So,” he said, “How is this scored again?” he asked.

“The higher the marks, obviously, the better the score,” said Winning, who was no longer winning.

“Do I throw them all at once?” asked Obi-Wan.

“Yes, of course,” said Winning.

“Just throw the dice already!” said Dockbay.

The onlookers joined in with “encouraging” Obi-Wan to just get it over with and throw the dice.

“Oh, right, of course,” he said, and he threw them down on the table. They scattered this way and that and every die fell on the highest mark except one, which teetered between the highest and second highest mark, and then landed on one point from a perfect roll.

The audience fell absolutely silent.

“Is that good?” asked Obi-Wan.

The crowd erupted in cacophony. Dockbay groaned in agony and sunk in his chair, and Winning grinned at Obi-Wan as if he was the most amusing thing he’d seen all night. Padme just laughed and pushed the credits over to Obi-Wan.

“You won,” she said.

“Oh, did I?” he said, though she could barely hear him over the noise of the crowd. He had that smile on his face of feigned ignorance that she knew, and then she knew he’d _made_ it happen.

Of _course,_ he did. With the _force. _

“Collect your winnings!” somebody called. “Kiss her!”

There was some applause and laughter at that.

Obi-Wan blinked and glanced at Padme, seeming at once embarrassed.

“Ah, yes, well perhaps another time,” he stammered.

He was promptly boo-ed.

“Madame Negotiator will not be denied!” called someone else, and everyone laughed.

“Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!” began the chant around them. Obi-Wan rose from his chair, she could only assume, to flee.

“Hey,” she said to him gently, rising to his side.

He looked down at her, and she took his face in her hand and whispered, “It’s only a kiss.”

She gave him no time to react; she rose on her toes and kissed him. He received her at once.

The crowd cheered and clapped.

She ran her fingers through the soft hair on his jawline. His hands clasped her back for a moment, cradling her with strength and caution, and then, imprecisely, slowly, the kiss ended.

Padme found herself letting out a small laugh of embarrassment in which he joined as they fell away from each other.

“Well, I should hope you are all happy,” she addressed the crowd, almost as a reprimand.

There were some laughs and some applause, and then Dockbay said, “Well, your friend here certainly out-rolled me.”

“Beginner’s luck,” said Obi-Wan. “Though I wouldn’t have let you kiss her, anyway.”

Winning laughed at that.

“What about another game?” he asked.

“I think Madame Negotiator is negotiated out for the night,” said Padme.

“Alas, then, good night to the two of you.”

(-(+)-)(-(+)-)(-(+)-)(-(+)-)


	6. Anakin! and Pirates!

(-(+)-)(-(+)-)(-(+)-)(-(+)-)

SIX:

The walk back to their rooms was a weighted one, to be sure. After an intolerably wordless walk down one hallway, Padmé forced herself to break the silence.

“Sorry if I, ah, overstepped my bounds, or, you know, surprised you… or something,” she said, lacking all the grace one would expect a senator to have. It was awful. What he’d done was ruin her ability to speak properly, and that wasn’t something she’d dealt with for a very long time. She was _trained _to be better than this!

“No, no,” he said right away, “It was nothing.”

But it was _nothing? _She choked back a laugh.

“Yes, of course,” she muttered and glanced at a small, passing droid.

“I mean, it was fine,” he said, as if not knowing quite what to say.

They were silent, painfully, _agonizingly_ silent for the rest of the walk to the door of their quarters. As they arrived at the door, she felt a sudden panic as if she didn’t want to go in yet, not with Anakin. She wasn’t sure if she was afraid Anakin might sense what had happened somehow, or if she was just panicking over unfinished business with Obi-Wan, but she couldn’t go in. _Not yet. _

She stopped in front of the door and turned to Obi-Wan.

“Do you think Anakin is all right?” she asked.

“I suppose we’re about to find out,” he replied with a wry smile.

“But did we learn anything tonight?” she wondered at him.

“Maybe,” said Obi-Wan, observing her more closely.

Padmé sighed in frustration, glancing up at a pipe in the corded hallway, oozing steam.

“You’ve, at least, endeared yourself to half the crew,” he said, as an offering.

“Yes, but –” she began, but Obi-Wan stepped closer and she stopped.

“Padmé,” he said, and he drew all her attention, shrouding her in the alcove of their door. “Sometimes things happen, and we don’t know why. Sometimes things are meaningless, and sometimes they might seem meaningless but end up having great meaning later, even imminent meaning.”

She brushed his shroud a little, and the blue of his eyes grew clearer.

“But in the moment, we don’t know what spare parts of tonight will have the most meaning. We can’t possibly see the end from the beginning, but we’ll see the beginning from the end, and then the value of which parts matter will be clear as day.”

“Well, that doesn’t help now, does it?” she muttered, fingering the edge of his shroud on his shoulder.

“No, it doesn’t,” he said, with a small smile. “The fun part is trying to figure it out somewhere in the middle.”

“And what if we don’t?” she asked.

“We will,” he said, and then, after a pause, “We have to. The Republic’s at stake.”

In that moment she felt the great love and dedication Obi-Wan had for the Republic and thought she might melt into the metal floor-grates. He took her hand, the one in his shroud at his shoulder.

“Remember everything that happened tonight, everyone we met, and everything they said,” he said, seeming to be half in his own thoughts. “I… feel as if there was something significant.”

“Oh?” she asked.

He came back to fully focus on her and said, “Yes.”

Unfortunately remembering _everything_ required her remembering the kiss, and with the closeness of Obi-Wan at this moment, she remembered the gentleness of his lips, and her eyes fell across his face, and her hand, quite out of line, had the gall to miss the softness of the beard on his cheek.

His hand tightened on her wrist, bringing her back to focus on what was important, which was _the Republic_, of course.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured to her, softly.

“For…?” she inquired back.

He drew a breath and released her hand, and stepped back, and it was as if a spell was broken, as if she could breathe again. It was as if her world, for a few minutes, had been nothing but Obi-Wan Kenobi and now there were more things there. Her hand, which he had just released, fell to her chest, where she felt the rise and fall of her breathing and steadied it… steadied it.

He watched her with something akin to sadness hidden in his shroud.

She turned at once and opened the door.

“We’re back!” she called, not wanting to surprise Anakin (not after the surprise in the marketplace nearly killed her).

Practically stumbling into the main room, she saw Anakin sitting at a desk, fiddling with some diminutive mechanics, and using a few tools. Nearby was a plate of half-eaten chocolate cake.

“Oh finally,” he groaned, upon seeing them. “This was getting really boring, but I did make a droid.”

“What?” asked Padmé in disbelief.

“Oh, it’s just a small one,” he said, as if it was no big deal. He held up a palm-sized round droid that squizzled. “Might be good for spying, I guess.”

“Wow, Ani,” she said, coming closer to look at the little droid. “That’s actually pretty amazing.”

“Well, it’s what someone does when one is left all alone in the quarters _all evening_ with nothing but food and droid parts for company,” said Anakin, glancing over at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan scratched his beard thoughtfully.

“We didn’t leave any droid parts in here,” he mentioned.

“Yeah, so,” said Anakin, “The, uh, comm system in our room doesn’t exist anymore.”

Padmé laughed.

“Fine,” said Obi-Wan, “Next time we’re bringing you with us.”

“Good,” said Anakin, satisfied. “So, what did you find out?”

Padmé glanced at Obi-Wan and they shared a look, an _unintentional look_.

“Er… what did you find out?” asked Anakin, more suspicious and alert. 

“I found out that Corellian Hooch is to be avoided at all costs,” said Padmé, taking an aloof tone.

“I knew that before I was ten,” said Anakin. “What else?”

“Games of chance are best left for those who can move matter… or dice… with their minds,” said Padmé.

“What, you cheated at gambling?” asked Anakin, looking aghast at his master. “First you gambled, and then you _cheated?_”

“It was for a good cause,” stated Obi-Wan, obliquely.

“I hope you found out something _good,”_ said Anakin.

“Maybe,” said Obi-Wan, and then he changed tack in an instant. “However, I’m tired and will now retire. Good night. Don’t stay up too late, Anakin.”

With that, Obi-Wan was gone to his quarters like a puff of smoke. Immediately Anakin stood and turned on Padmé.

“What did you do to him?” he demanded.

“Nothing,” she replied, defensive at once.

“He’s all,” Anakin said, and then with his hands, he made gestures around himself like shaking matter. “Like _that._”

“Huh?” replied Padmé, not at her most eloquent.

“The force, Padmé, the _force _around him is… it’s… it’s just not like him,” he said, not seeming to know how to explain it, and then he began again with another try: “It’s like he’s normally a placid lake, not just normally… he’s _always _a placid lake… but tonight he’s all shaken up and roiling.”

“That’s something you can see?” asked Padmé, feeling uncomfortable with the force. He ignored her question entirely.

“I’ll ask you again… _what did you do to him?_” Anakin asked with a focus she rarely saw in him. Or, at least, it was rarely wholly focused on her. It was intense, and almost terrifying. She felt as if he could see inside of her.

“Nothing, I did nothing,” she said, averting her gaze.

“You’re lying,” he said, and it was as if he _knew_.

There was a long, weighted silence where she didn’t dare look at him.

“It wasn’t anything,” she finally spat out quickly.

“What wasn’t anything?” he demanded at once.

“It was just a game, it didn’t mean anything,” she said.

“What _happened?” _he insisted.

It was almost as if he reached inside of her and pulled it from her by force.

“I kissed him,” she half-whispered, and then she gasped, never meaning to tell anyone, let alone _him_.

“You_ what?”_ hissed Anakin, rushing her and _looming_. “How _dare_ you?”

She backed into the wall to defend herself, though she knew she was guilty.

“He’s a Jedi Knight, a _Master_, no less! Have you no respect for his authority?” he demanded. He was angrier than she could have imagined he would be.

“It was completely innocuous!” she objected.

“Stop using senator speak,” he groused, “You only do that when you’re insecure.”

That stung because he was _right. _She hated it when he was right.

“Well, it was,” she insisted.

“Then why was the force so disturbed around him?” he asked.

She didn’t know what to say to that. Maybe it affected Obi-Wan a lot more than she thought. Maybe, just maybe, she’d made a really bad mistake.

He poked her shoulder with his finger and said, “Exactly.”

“Don’t poke me!” she replied, knocking his finger away in irritation. As if she needed immature Anakin poking her and giving her uncomfortable revelations.

“Then stop kissing my master!” hissed Anakin more quietly, perhaps so Obi-Wan wouldn’t overhear. He poked her again.

“I said stoppit!” she spat, and poked him back, in the side.

“You’re bad at that,” mocked Anakin, unmoved.

“I am _not,_” she replied with determination, and began poking him relentlessly where she knew, from years’ experience, he was ticklish.

She felt a surge of satisfaction as Anakin muffled a shriek and pulled away from her offensive maneuvers, yet she had felt so attacked, and so much that her hand had been forced, that she wanted him to _suffer. _She tickled him until he was helpless on his back upon the floor, a child beneath her skilled knowledge of his weakness, her knowing of his missing dragon’s scale. She was victorious over him, and he had been subdued.

Finally, she allowed him to catch her wrists as she leaned over him, though he was weak and panting. Somehow it was as if they’d been wrestling on the floor like youths. It was strangely refreshing for Padmé, who’d never had much of a youth.

“Padmé,” he said, between breaths.

“What?” she asked, as if waiting for him to explain himself.

“Why did you kiss Obi-Wan?” he asked, differently this time. It wasn’t demanding. It seemed as if he really wanted to know why.

“It was all a game,” she said. “He saved me from having to kiss one of the more unpleasant choices. It truly wasn’t supposed to mean anything.”

“But did it?” he asked.

He was strangely vulnerable, and Padmé felt it. Her gaze fell away from his and she felt his grip tighten slightly on her wrists.

“It shouldn’t,” she concluded, firm, insistent.

There was a sudden shift, a change in gravity, a burst of centrifugal motion, and Anakin had Padmé on her back, and he suddenly didn’t seem child-like at _all. _His razor-like intensity had returned, _just like that_, and she felt him tremble through her wrists.

“Anakin,” she began, but his hand touched her cheek and she felt his fingertips shake. 

“I want to kiss you,” he sighed.

“Anakin,” she said again, confused by his sudden change of tack.

“It won’t mean anything,” he said, but his voice made her think otherwise.

“You’re lying,” she replied.

“Please,” he whispered.

“_Anakin,” _she insisted.

But he did it anyway. He fell and kissed her and it was like being kissed by a being made of fire. It was as if all of his conflicts, all of his torments, were pushed into a single metaphysical act, and as if she were blinded by it, seared by it, and left scalded.

He pulled back as a man breaking the water’s surface for air, and scrambled from her at once, sitting on his heels.

“Ah, Padmé,” he said, “I…”

“Just assaulted a senator?” she said, sitting up and trying to put herself to rights, feeling thoroughly irritated.

“What? No, I…”

“Yes, you did, you idiot,” she said, and then she leaned over and shoved him. He fell sideways, easily.

“But,” he began, but Padmé wasn’t having it.

“How dare you accost me over the _incredibly harmless _way I kissed Obi-Wan, and then proceed to kiss me like you’re dying of thirst?” she said, standing to do her own looming over Anakin. “Did I say you could do that? When did I say you could do that?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, defeated by his own weakness.

“You’d better be,” she said. “I’m going to bed. I hope you enjoy it when I explain this to your master in the morning.”

“No, Padmé!” he said rising to his knees to stop her from leaving, “Please… don’t tell him.”

“Why not?” she asked. “You made me tell you I kissed him. Shouldn’t we all know each other’s secrets, now?”

“It would cause unnecessary conflict in the group,” he said, sounding a bit silly.

But, he was actually kind of right. Padmé glanced back at Obi-Wan’s room. They were supposed to be doing something more important than worrying about who’s kissing who, they were supposed to be _protecting the Republic_. For a wry moment, Padmé felt that if their sorry trio was all the Republic had guarding it, maybe it deserved to fall. It was all seeming very ridiculous, especially with how late it had gotten. 

“Fine,” said Padmé at last, and Anakin sighed in relief. “But don’t try anything like that again, or I’ll have your head.”

She gave him a stern eye and left. It was unfortunate that later, when recalling the extent of his passion, she might have shivered a little. 

[‘]9][‘]9][‘]9]

Padmé woke at a strange hour, not sure why she had awoken. As she lay on her bed, however, she discovered why when the bed, room, and ship shifted momentarily, like it had been buoyed sideways in the deep by a torpedo. A moment passed and then it came again, the shift, coupled with a deep bass sound which was hardly perceptible, but she knew what it was. She jumped up in a flash and ran to the Jedi’s room at once.

“Obi-Wan! Anakin! They’re here!” she cried.

Obi-Wan was alert even before she’d spoken, and it was as if the moment she opened the door the change in pressure woke him. Anakin took more time to rouse.

“What?” asked Anakin, who flailed. “What?”

“The pirates!” she hissed, as if he should already know that, and she slammed their door, running to throw on some proper clothing. The men were out in less than a minute, and fortunately she’d been quick enough to be mostly dressed before they arrived. Obi-Wan was buckling his lightsaber to his belt.

“At which part of the ship are they?” asked Obi-Wan.

Anakin sat down at the holo, flicked it on, and started flipping through ship readings, which he had somehow accessed in his downtime.

“Front hull, left side,” said Anakin.

Padmé checked the switch on her blaster and tucked it into the back of her belt.

“Let’s get to it, then,” said Obi-Wan, wrapping his shroud.

“Now or never,” said Padmé, steeling herself and opening the door.

They marched down the hallway as if they were _serious people, _or something, with Padmé in front, and Anakin and Obi-Wan flanked slightly behind on either side. Anakin gave her directions quietly, as he had memorized the map of the ship and knew the way there. As they arrived at the scene, there were a few people waiting at a dock, one being the insect-like waiter from the night before, who spotted her and gave her a sideways grin.

“Well, if it isn’t the _negotiator,_” said Insect Man, and the others waiting at the dock turned to see. They were all in various staged of looking her up and down when Obi-Wan moved to stand in front of her.

“What do you want with Madame Negotiator?” he inquired.

Insect Man chuckled, as well as a few others.

“It looks like her friends are here,” said the insect.

Padmé wanted to ask who her friends were, but she supposed that meant whoever was the previous trade negotiator was a yellow-bellied traitor to Naboo. She made a mental note to look into that at her soonest convenience.

At that moment, there were some sounds of men shouting and running towards them from another corridor, and the men who’d been waiting at the dock went on the alert.

“Ah, looks like the fight’s on,” said one of the dock men, pulling his pistol out of his holster. “Take those crates and we’ll go behind these others. We’ve just got to hold them off until the docking’s done.”

She glanced at Obi-Wan and Anakin, and they all agreed without words to play along. Ducking behind the crates, they made ready to defend. Padmé found herself hoping the pirates would dock fast enough to avoid any real conflict requirements on her part. She had no desire to attack anyone who was innocently trying to protect this ship and its cargo.

Fortunately for Padmé, no sooner had the men arrived from the ship to defend it when the pirate ship dropped its platform and a mish-mash of questionable and scallywag persons erupted into the scene. As the pirates rushed past them into the fray with blasters blazing, Padmé and her Jedi were completely spared the requirement of defending themselves against lawful citizens of the Republic. She turned at once to Obi-Wan and Anakin and put a hand on each of their arms.

“Do _not_ use your light-sabers,” she murmured to them, then glanced behind her. “I don’t know if I could explain that away.”

The men who’d betrayed the freighter were in the process of loading stock into the pirate ship in crates, while the pirates fought off the crew security.

“Then what shall we use to defend you?” asked Obi-Wan.

Padmé glanced around and then darted out to a fallen soldier and a pirate, and, firing here and there to ward off blasts, filched the blasters off them both and ran back to cover.

“Here,” she said, feeling a little breathless as she handed them over.

“What in the seven he-,” began Anakin, outraged.

“Please don’t do that again,” finished Obi-Wan, long-sufferingly. “We would like you to live to see the end of this adventure.”

Obi-Wan glanced down at the blaster in his hand with distaste.

“How I wish it had not come to this,” he bemoaned softly, perhaps only to himself.

Anakin had already braced himself behind a crate and begun taking aim on the off chance that he might need to shoot somebody.

“We’re loaded!” yelled Insect Man, and the pirates began to fall back to the ship. He looked toward Padmé and motioned for her to join him on the loading platform.

“Here we go,” muttered Padmé, grabbing both Jedi by the sleeve.

They ran to the platform under fire and leapt to catch as it had just begun to rise. Insect Man helped her up and the Jedi fended for themselves. Somehow they all made it, and as the platform shut, there was a sudden humming silence that filled the space where chaos had just been. It was disarming.

“I wasn’t sure you’d make it, madame,” said Insect Man, as he turned to beckon towards the bowels of the pirate ship. “Your associates are waiting.”

The dim corridor gaped in front of her, promising peril and the unknown. From what she could see of it, the ship looked shabby and unkempt. Padmé was gripped by a feeling of concern. Actually, scratch that. She was afraid. However, she’d made the choice to come this far and there was only one way to go in order to get out alive: straight through the belly of the beast.

She glanced over her shoulder at Anakin. He looked ready to smash anything that might look sideways at her, which was fine, but she needed to look over the other shoulder for Obi-Wan. He met her glance with his own gaze, as if he’d been waiting for it, to relay his soft confidence and knowing. He filled her spine with composite courage. She felt herself straighten and addressed Insect Man.

“Take me to them,” she ordered.

[-][-][-][-][-][-][-][-][-][-][-][-][-][-][-]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anakin is problematic. But we knew that already, didn't we?


	7. The Force!

SEVEN:

The innards of the pirate ship were not as unpleasant as she had imagined, but almost. She used as much of her training as she could to appear as if it didn’t bother her, as if she expected it, as if this was all _normal_. Insect Man led her and her security detail (i.e.: Jedi), through a few corridors, past several clusters of too-eyeing unpleasant-folk, into a room with a view… of space.

Within this room was a large desk, and, strangely enough, a potted plant. Padmé found herself drawn to pondering its existence on this pirate ship.

“Well,” said the large, brusque man behind the desk, whom she had previously failed to notice other than peripherally, “You’re not who I expected.”

“Neither are you,” she said out of reflex, and he seemed disarmed by her statement.

“Why should you say that?” he asked.

She took a moment to consider the situation.

“No reason,” she said.

His eyes narrowed.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I am the _negotiator_,” she replied.

He stared at her.

“You may call me _Madame Negotiator_,” she continued.

He leaned back in his chair, considering her for a long moment.

“You’re young,” he said.

“Am I?” she inquired coolly.

Again, he paused. One, of course, never really knows the age of a person, not in space.

He seemed as if he were going back and forth between two lines of thought, trying to decide between them. Finally, he settled and moved forward.

“Hutt sent you, didn’t he?” he asked.

“No,” she said, which seemed to surprise him. “I don’t work for _Hutts._”

His eyes widened, and then he looked nervous.

“If you don’t work for the Hutts,” he said, as if he suspected the answer but wasn’t sure he wanted to know it, “who do you work for?”

She gave him a small smile.

“I require board and transport,” she stated.

“Transport to where?” he asked.

She inspected him briefly.

“You don’t know?” she inquired, as if there was something he should know, already.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” he replied.

“Then the Hutt will suffice,” she said, as if subtly inconvenienced.

“That is the best I can do,” he said, hands spread.

“Then it will have to do,” she replied, with a tight smile. “I will need comms access and I ask that I not be disturbed.”

“Of course, madame,” he said, and he nodded to one of his men by the door. “Give her the guest quarters.”

\--0—0—0—0—0—0—0—0—

After a thorough bug check (they found three, which Anakin immediately began to dissemble), Padmé breathed a sigh of relief.

“Oh, my stars, can I please never do that again for as long as I live?” she said, flopping on the bed face-first.

“We were both ready to fight our way out of there, if need be,” said Anakin, sitting at a small table and pulling a wire out of an eavesdropping device with tweezers.

“Well,” said Obi-Wan, giving Anakin a glance for his overt readiness for violence, “We were prepared for whatever might happen, but we were also impressed by your ability to negotiate, _Madame Negotiator_.”

Padmé propped her chin on her fist and gave Obi-Wan a grin.

“If they only knew what an absolute _fraud_ I am,” she said.

“Well, they don’t,” said Obi-Wan, coming to sit on the other side of the bed, “and that’s what matters.”

“Okay. So here’s the thing,” said Padmé, spreading her hands, “There’s somebody pulling the Hutt strings. Did you see it? It was on his face. He’s afraid of whoever it is.”

“I don’t think he knows who it is,” said Obi-Wan.

“But he knows enough about whoever it is to be afraid of them,” said Padmé.

“Right,” said Obi-Wan, considering. “So whoever it is has done a very good job of hiding their identity, but also inducing fear.”

“Let me see that ring again,” said Padmé, clambering up into a seated position next to Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan rustled through his shroud into his robes and produced the ring. She plucked it from his hand and began to inspect it again, looking for any identifying marks as to its origin or true owner. There was nothing unusual that she could see about the ring, other than the scuffs showing either years of normal wear or a short period of rough wear.

“You seem as if you’ll stare a hole right through it, at this rate,” she heard Obi-Wan murmur at her side. She glanced at him and chuckled, then leaned against his arm, holding up the ring for them both to see.

“Have you noticed anything unusual about this ring?” she asked.

“Not yet, aside from the cracked kyber crystal,” he said.

“Have you considered, um, trying to sense anything, I mean, with the force?” she asked.

Obi-Wan was quiet for a moment.

“Not yet,” he said.

She glanced askance at him.

“Will you?” she asked.

His eyes softened on her, and he glanced at the ring. Taking it from her fingers, she noticed and tried not to notice the warmth of his fingertips.

“I supposed I could try,” he said quietly.

She watched him as he ran his thumb over the top of the ring, and then settled into a sort of meditative gaze. It was the first time she’d ever been so close to a Jedi while using the force… she could feel his arm against hers as they sat on the bed, but beyond that, she could feel something else that came from him. It was like what Anakin said, like a lake, which expanded out beyond his borders and filled the room. It was serene but sharply present. It was as if it had always been there, but she didn’t notice it until now, and now that it was here it was impossible to ignore. She had the sudden urge to touch the surface of the lake, to create rings within rings within rings, to watch them roiling outward, faster, farther, toward an infinite expanse… all from one single touch. The potential power seemed immense. 

Anakin raised his head from where he was dissembling bugs and looked at her with something between confusion and curiosity. She pretended not to notice.

Obi-Wan stayed still and the lake expanded even further, building in its depth and, it seemed to Padmé, _intensity_. She gazed at the ring in his hands, half seeing, but half feeling and wondering what he might sense within its plain makings.

An item is imprinted, however subtly, by the energies which impact it. A kyber crystal would gain imprint more than most, or so Padmé assumed. This, at least, is what she hoped for as she felt his intensity in the force broaden slowly, and as the force in Obi-Wan grew more brilliant, she began to forget about the ring. It wasn’t forgetting, exactly. It was losing where she was or why she was there, or anywhere. All she felt was Him and the broad, placid expanse which was, somehow, part of him, yet connecting to everything else. She _wanted _to be lost in it, to dive into its deep, cool depths; submerged yet breathing and full of life. The radiance of his arm against hers seemed to pulse like a heartbeat, and she reached out to let a drop of water fall from her fingertip to his surface. It fell, it struck, and it didn’t happen how she imagined it would; at the moment of contact, the lake shuddered and imploded, pulling in on itself and sucking suddenly into a vacuum, withdrawing from the room and her and everything with such speed she felt shocked by its dissipation. She realized afterward that she’d gasped.

“Why did you stop?” she said before she could think about what she was saying, and how strange it would seem, and how desperate her voice sounded.

Obi-Wan had the ring clenched tightly in his fist. She couldn’t even see it anymore, and she wondered how long he’d been holding it like that. Anakin was looking at her with a pale expression.

It was then she noticed Obi-Wan’s breath was uneven, perhaps belabored.

“What did you just do?!” Anakin demanded of her, as if she would have any idea what she just did, if she did anything. She felt as if she’d just emerged from a dream.

She glanced at Obi-Wan, and he hesitantly met her eyes.

“Padmé,” he began, his voice a bit ragged, “It appears… as if you may have some… force sensitivity.”

“No, I don’t,” she said immediately. It was an instant response. Perhaps she said it too quickly. Perhaps _crazily_, one might have described it to have been said.

Anakin was standing and staring at Padmé, his chair having been knocked backward on its side at some point which she didn’t remember.

“No… I don’t,” she told Anakin, as if to assure him, as if somehow it would make him less agitated at the moment. She looked back at Obi-Wan, who was watching her with a certain resignation, as if to say kindly, _Yes, you do._

She felt overwhelmed by the thought and withdrew in her spot and turned away from them both. _Stars above!_ She bemoaned that this is what one gets when one chooses to keep the company of Jedi.

“No, I don’t,” she objected against the whole universe, blinking back tears for some reason she couldn’t understand.

There was a wordless exchange of ideas to which she was only peripherally aware between Obi-Wan and Anakin which led to Anakin standing down and righting his chair and resuming his labors over his newfound droid parts, though a restless, impatient sigh escaped him.

She knew Obi-Wan was deliberating how to approach her, and she simply let him experience that discomfort, for her discomfort exceeded his. She thought it probably did, anyway.

“Padmé,” said Obi-Wan and his voice filled with color as he said her name. She hated that, kind of. It was a bit torturous, and that didn’t seem fair, and a tear gained enough momentum to fall down her cheek. “Padmé,” he said again, as if grinding a knife into the wound.

She gathered her energy and turned to face him.

“What?” she demanded, betrayed by another tear.

He saw her and turned a shade of alarmed, chased quickly by empathy. Of course, he was filled with empathy. It was simply _the worst._ He reached out as if to touch her face, perhaps to wipe off a tear, but he hesitated, and then stopped suddenly and blinked at his hand.

Padmé looked down to see her tear had fallen into the palm of his hand. She felt a moment’s confusion until their eyes met and she _saw_ it. Rings after rings after rings, expanding outward upon the placid surface of the lake, bending backwards, forwards, against themselves, but always moving in a sine wave outward. The lake was no longer placid, serene… it displayed _energy_.

She took his hand and smoothed the tear away with her thumb, as if that would make it go away, as if that would change anything.

He gazed at her with an intensity she rarely saw in Obi-Wan.

“You are,” he said, meaning she was force sensitive, that she could sense some of the things he could, that she wouldn’t think he was silly or that his practice was just an archaic religion or that it meant nothing and that politics was the only place where _real _things happened, because this was real, _this_ was what was truly real, this was _everything and now she would know, too. _She didn’t know how she got all that out of those two words, but she did, or at least she thought she did, and it was remarkably scary, yet comforting at the same time.

She couldn’t reply as he held her hand in his own, gripped it, even. She tried to deflect.

“What does it matter, really?” she said, glancing askance.

She knew he knew she was deflecting. Was this how it was going to be, now? She’d never be able to hide anything she was thinking or feeling from him? She wasn’t sure she liked that.

“How many times have you used your own intuition to navigate politics? How many times have you used it to get things to go the way you need them to? How many times have you used it to know what your partners in politics are thinking?” he asked her, all in succession. He seemed rather excited about this.

“I don’t know,” she said, “I just… I was trained from birth to do those things, anyway.”

He studied her a moment and, perhaps noticing her discomfort, released her hand and straightened up.

“Well,” he said, smiling. “Perhaps it is all just coincidence.”

Padmé didn’t know what to say to his sudden change of tack.

“Let me know if, someday, you have any questions,” he said, rising from the bed and unwinding the shroud from where it had lain on his shoulders.

“I do have a question,” she said, pulling her knees to her chest.

“Oh?” asked Obi-Wan.

“Did you find anything on that ring?” she asked, pointing to the ring, which had been forgotten and dropped on the bedcovers.

Obi-Wan looked at the ring.

“Oh,” he said, and she thought he might have turned a bit pink around the collar as he reached for it. “I… I’m afraid I did a poor job with it. I got… distracted. I should try again.”

“Want to do it now?” asked Padmé.

“Ah, maybe not quite yet,” he replied quickly, dodging.

Padmé felt a certain longing for the way it felt being close to Obi-Wan while he used the force; it was a certain longing that she didn’t feel was particularly productive, but she felt it regardless, and was dismayed by how intense it was. When his glance met hers, she knew he felt it, too, and suddenly she had a hundred questions, but wasn’t sure if any of them were appropriate to ask. She decided to ask none of them.

Standing, Padmé said: “Well, I’m certain both of you are quite tired. So am I. Shall we call it a night?”

“Enh,” said Anakin, “I’m going to mess with these parts for a little while.”

He’d pulled out his little droid he’d made from the last ship and appeared to be doing some sort of upgrade using the new parts he’d acquired.

“Besides,” he said, “listening to the two of you bumble around with the obvious will probably give me nightmares.” 

“I beg your pardon!” said Padmé.

“Oh, come on,” said Anakin, tossing down a miniature screwdriver and gesturing at Padmé. “You’re force sensitive, get over it. It’s not a big deal.”

“I think it’s a big deal,” mentioned Obi-Wan.

“Yes, you do,” said Anakin, nodding a bit too agreeably. “Yes… you… do.”

Anakin narrowed his eyes at Obi-Wan, to which Obi-Wan began to look uncomfortable and cleared his throat.

“Well, then,” said Obi-Wan. “Sleep it is.”

He wandered away into the servant’s quarters.

Anakin rolled his eyes and went back to fixing his droid, seemingly unconcerned that he was in her bedroom.

“So…,” asked Padmé, “are you just going to sit here working on that while I sleep?”

“Yes,” said Anakin.

“What if I object?” asked Padmé.

Anakin put down his tool and gave her a level look.

“If you object, then I’ll object to you seducing my Jedi Master _right in front of my face_,” he said.

“I did no such thing!” objected Padmé.

“I saw it,” he said.

“No, you didn’t,” she objected again.

“I _felt_ it,” he said, the checkmate.

“If you felt anything, you must have known I didn’t intend for any of this to happen,” she said.

“But you couldn’t _help_ yourself, could you?” he asked, halfway to condescending. “Do you wonder why I didn’t say anything?”

“Well, no, I was kind of in the middle of-,” she started.

“Because I was stunned by so much disbelief I couldn’t even _do_ anything,” he said, talking over her. “I couldn’t believe what I was seeing – or _feeling_. Congratulations, Padmé. That’s hard to do, because I’ve seen a lot of things, but this… I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Padmé didn’t know what to say.

“Padmé,” said Anakin, suddenly sincere, “I’m sorry I kissed you last night. That was really dumb. I just wanted to feel something, I guess, and with all the… _energy_… coming off you and Obi-Wan it’s er, _catching_. And disturbing. Plus, I’ve always liked you.”

“What?” asked Padmé, thrown completely off-guard by Anakin’s sudden change of tack and mood and _confessions_.

“Oh, shut up,” he said. “You’re beautiful, and whatever. Besides, I also sort of hate you.”

“I noticed,” she replied.

“Don’t pretend you don’t hate me, too,” he said, fiddling with a spare part.

“I don’t,” she said, and he looked up wryly. “Okay, maybe sometimes. I mean, you’re basically crazy.”

“So are you, Padmé,” he said, leaning an elbow on the table. “You’re just better at hiding it, that’s all.”

“Fair point,” she ceded, glancing around, considering sleep.

“Stay out of Obi-Wan’s head, though,” he said, soldering a part together. “You’re turning him inside out. Slowly. It’s kind of morbidly fascinating, to be honest. Not that I like it. It’s pretty terrible. It’s like you’re a deadly monster that doesn’t actually know it’s destroying someone.”

“What am I supposed to do now?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” said Anakin, and then he paused and appeared troubled for a moment. He looked up at her. “Want me to show you how it works? Some… pointers, I guess?”

“The force?” she asked.

He nodded.

She glanced at the door to where Obi-Wan was sleeping.

“Are you sure that’d be wise?” she asked. “It seemed kind of disastrous with him.”

“He has too much skin in the game,” said Anakin, as if it was no big deal. “You need to learn how to use it as a tool, and how to keep from getting lost in it. Which is what you did. Totally lost. You were like a baby. Seriously, how were you so unprepared? I was embarrassed _for_ you.”

Padmé didn’t know whether to ask more questions or smack Anakin out of irritation.

“Really,” she said. “Mr. Volcano-Always-Ready-To-Blow is going to teach me about control?”

“Whatever,” he said, “You don’t know what it’s like to be me.”

He had a point. She didn’t.

“Fine,” she ceded, and Anakin put down his tools at once to face her. He pointed at the bed.

“Sit there,” he said, and once she did, he went on: “Okay, remember last night when I made you tell me that thing?”

“Yes,” she said, feeling something akin to rage at the indignity of not only it happening, but him admitting it with absolutely zero remorse. “About that-,”

“We can talk about that part of it later,” he said, holding up a hand to stop her from changing the subject. “I’m sorry, whatever, blah blah, _anyway-_,”

“I expect a proper apology later,” she interjected.

“So, despite the fact that I was pretty upset,” he said, completely ignoring her, “I was focused, and I got what I wanted. That’s what you need.”

“Focus?” she asked.

“Exactly,” he said.

“I felt pretty focused,” she said.

“What were you focused on?” he asked.

“Obi-Wan’s force,” she said.

“Right, which made you completely unaware of anything else that was happening,” he said.

“What _was_ happening?” she asked.

Anakin drew a breath and let it out as he considered how to explain it.

“Basically, it felt like a war between your will and his,” he said. “You really distracted him from what he was trying to do, which was the whole ring thing. How was he supposed to focus on the ring when you were messing with him?”

“It was just so amazing!” she said.

“Yeah,” said Anakin, “it is pretty amazing. But you’ve got to be considerate of other people’s space.”

“Like when you forced me to tell you that stuff last night?” she asked.

“Not my best moment,” he ceded.

“You did the same thing to me, didn’t you?” she asked. “But purposefully. You knew what you were doing and you did it anyway! I did it all on accident.”

Anakin shifted in his chair.

“I guess, but I was… not happy and I just had to know,” he said. “I just _had_ to know. I couldn’t stand it.”

Padmé observed Anakin for a moment.

“I think you’re dangerous,” she said, and he glanced away.

“Whatever,” he said. “This isn’t about me. It’s about you, and you’re dangerous, too.”

“Then tell me how to avoid doing that to Obi-Wan,” she said. “I don’t want to trouble him.”

“Too late for that,” said Anakin.

“Just show me!” she demanded.

“Fine,” he said, rising and moving to sit beside her.

He was much taller than Obi-Wan, and his shoulder sat higher than hers as they sat side-by-side, but she could feel the warmth from him in the same way. He didn’t feel as comfortable as Obi-Wan, though. When she sat next to Obi-Wan she felt comfort and a certain tranquility. From Anakin there was an edge, a jumpiness, and unsteadiness.

“Give me something to focus on,” he said, as if she was going to produce a ring or something from thin air. She rummaged through her pockets and found a hairpin with a tiny pearl on the end and handed it over.

“There, do that,” she said.

“So, I’m going to do basically the same thing Obi-Wan did,” he said.

“Okay,” she said.

“I want you to observe,” he said. “Just observe. Try not to mess with anything. It’s not polite to mess with someone’s energy, you know.”

“Yes, yes, I get it,” she said, irritable.

Anakin closed his eyes and immediately the force shot out from him and filled the entire room’s space and beyond, almost explosively, causing Padmé to catch her breath. It wasn’t at all like Obi-Wan. It wasn’t a lake, it wasn’t fluid, or serene. It was ice; a thick, sharp, hard, unyielding plane of solid ice. Yet, beneath it was chaos, lava, roiling, threatening to erupt, rife with violent power, but kept tightly held at bay by the thick, rigid ice on the surface. How could have she messed with his force, had she even wanted to? It was terrifying.

She watched as Anakin gave the pin his full scrutiny; the pin didn’t have a chance. It was to be known whether it wanted to be known or not. Like the release of a breath, he let the force go and the ice faded in an instant.

“So, you got this on Naboo, huh?” he said, handing it over.

“Oh, good gods!” she exclaimed over his excessive force powers, ignoring the hairpin.

He gave her something of a sideways grin, fully knowing that he was just that powerful. 

“Good job not messing with my focus,” he said.

“As if I could have!” she exclaimed.

“I guess I’m a little less fluid than my master,” he admitted.

“Do they all know this about you?” she asked him. “All of the Jedi?”

“The council does, at least,” he said, looking down at the pin still in his hands. “I guess they’re kind of, uh… scared of me.”

At that moment she saw much of what Anakin struggled with, why the sullen faces, why the constant edge of unease. She saw where his restlessness came from. She knew the nagging fear that he might be a monster and unable to change it.

“Wow, Ani,” she said.

“Don’t call me that,” he said. “It sounds stupid.”

He handed over the pin and she took it.

“So now you know,” he said, standing up and stretching. “Don’t mess with somebody’s energy. It’s rude. I’m going to bed.”

“See you tomorrow,” she said.

“Yeah,” he agreed, and he left.

#o#-#o#-#o#-#o#-#o#-#o#-#o#-#o#


	8. Odo the Hutt

EIGHT:

The day “dawned” with a rapping at the door.

“Someone’s at the door,” murmured Padme, rolling over and knocking a pillow off the bed.

The rapping continued, and she shot up.

“Someone’s at the door!” she realized, half-falling out of bed while wrapping a blanket around herself. She stumbled towards the servant’s quarters and nearly tripped over the door to find both Jedi on their way out.

“I’ll get it,” said Anakin.

“Wait,” said Obi-Wan, “Let me. Stay in there, Padme.”

Obi-Wan pointed into the servant’s quarters, and he shut the door behind her. There, she was met with a certain silence, punctuating by the muffled sounds of interruption in the other room. She felt rather lame and unpretentious, sitting draped in a blanket in the half-lit room, waiting for the Jedi to decide what to do. Not having information bothered her tremendously, even if for just a minute.

Finally, Obi-Wan came in and found her glance within a split second. It was as if he knew exactly where she was going to be. Maybe he did. She wondered how pitiful she might look. He smiled briefly, but then it was gone.

“We have arrived,” said Obi-Wan.

“Where exactly have we arrived?” she asked, rising and summoning dignity against hope in her current circumstances.

“Tatooine,” he said. “One of the heads of the five Hutt syndicates is here for the pod races. Odo the Hutt.”

His normally placid face went grave.

“I hope you’re on top of your game today, Padme,” said Anakin as he strolled in behind Obi-Wan. “A Hutt isn’t going to be as easy to convince as that other guy.”

“It’ll be fine,” said Padme, feeling irritated and not at all sure it was ‘going to be fine’. “Just… let me get dressed, already.”

She rushed out and shut the door behind her, cutting off the Jedi. Heaving a sigh, she busied herself with dressing, and not thinking about what she was about to face. After she was done, she found herself sitting on the edge of the bed for minutes, trying to procrastinate, which wasn’t like her at all. It was just, to be honest, dreadfully scary.

She heard a soft knock at the servant’s quarters door and knew which of the two Jedi was knocking, just from the sound of it. She opened the door to reveal Obi-Wan’s concerned face, and she couldn’t help but smile a little at him.

“Hi,” she said.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“No,” she replied.

“Then let’s make a plan,” he said, coming into her room and taking her hand.

“Okay,” she replied, and as they moved to sit together on her bed, she felt her mind finally shift back into gear and begin moving towards productive ends. She’d been locked into inaction, but now she was able to think again. “What do we know about Odo?”

“Well,” said Obi-Wan, “he’s a Hutt, and a high-ranking one, seeing as how he’s head of one of their syndicates.”

“He must be rather powerful,” she said. “Did you know that there’s a faction of the Senate that wants to create a standing army just to check the expansion of Hutt power in the galaxy?”

“I’m not surprised,” said Obi-Wan. “Not that I keep up with everything that is happening in the Senate. It’s too much for one person to navigate.”

“That’s my job,” said Padme.

“Perhaps I should have said ‘too much for one Jedi to navigate’,” said Obi-Wan.

“I suppose you have your own Jedi things to worry about,” said Padme, waggling her fingers.

Obi-Wan chuckled.

“And I don’t know how you do it,” he said to her. “With how many Senators and how many motions and bylaws and factions are happening simultaneously, every day…”

“It’s a lot,” admitted Padme. “But, it _is_ rather interesting. And important.”

“As you say,” replied Obi-Wan, non-committal.

She gave him a flat look.

“You don’t think so?” she inquired.

“It is a lot, as you said, and though I likely don’t know at all what I’m talking about, it seems as if, from the outside, that there’s a lot of extra unnecessary legislation going on all the time,” he said. “I mean, don’t they say if you want something to never get done, introduce it to the Senate?”

“Yes, but they’re joking!” objected Padme.

“Yes, of course, they’re joking,” said Obi-Wan, though he looked as if he wanted to add something but didn’t. Padme narrowed her eyes at him.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said.

“What am I thinking?” he inquired, not at all fazed at the idea that she might be privy to his thoughts.

“That behind every joke is a grain of truth,” she said, pointing.

“I wasn’t thinking that at all,” he said, waving a hand in dismissal.

“What were you thinking, then?” she asked.

He glanced at her and paused, opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to decide not to.

“Nothing productive,” he settled.

She peered at him and he deflected. It was as if a force field was suddenly erected around his body, really, or his psyche, at least.

“Now,” he said, acting perfectly normal, “Odo the Hutt. If there’s one thing we know about Hutts, it’s that they are always looking to gain advantage, and if you can make him believe that working with you will give him an advantage, he will work with you. If disposing of you seems to give him advantage, he will dispose of you.”

“I should like not to be disposed of,” mentioned Padme.

“I should like you not to be disposed of, as well,” agree Obi-Wan. “But, if we must, we will defend you, and we will always have the element of surprise. No one will suspect the Jedi.”

“Indeed, no one would expect Jedi to be in dealings with _Hutts_,” said Padme. “Isn’t it against your religion, or something?”

Obi-Wan gave her a wry look, and she smirked at him.

“Not if it’s for the greater good, you know,” he said to her.

“Let’s make sure it ends up being that way,” said Padme. “If we fail and get offed, this will have all been for nothing.”

“I think we both find the Hutts equally distasteful,” said Obi-Wan.

“When do we leave?” asked Padme.

“In a few ticks,” said Obi-Wan. “We’ve just enough time to-,”

“I’m ordering breakfast,” announced Anakin, walking in and yanking the comm off the wall in a dramatic show. “Yes, we’ll have breakfast, now,” he said into the comm handle.

“I need caf!” interjected Padme.

“Add some caf,” muttered Anakin into the handle, and then he hung up and glanced around and touched the hilt of his lightsaber, as if restless. His eyes landed on Obi-Wan and Padme sitting mildly on the bed.

“This is boring,” said Anakin, and he loped over sit at the table with droid parts and started fiddling with things.

“We’ll be going soon enough,” said Obi-Wan.

Padme glanced at Obi-Wan and considered the fact that he’d been placed as master of Anakin Skywalker by the Jedi council. She wondered, why him? After perceiving the particularly frightening power that Anakin had with the force, she wondered why they entrusted Anakin to Obi-Wan. Perhaps he was the only Jedi who they thought could handle him. Perhaps Obi-Wan was the only Jedi Anakin would listen to, or at least partially listen to. She wondered what Obi-Wan thought, what he _really_ thought about Anakin’s abilities. She wondered if Anakin’s power frightened him, too.

He never acted as if that was the case. In fact, he only seemed vaguely like an exasperated parent, not like someone who might fear Anakin becoming a monster. However, she knew he did have some concerns. How well he was able to keep it all hidden, whatever he might think! Perhaps he had to keep it hidden; perhaps he did it to protect Anakin. If Anakin knew Obi-Wan feared him, what would that do to his training? How much worse would that make Anakin feel? How would that change his future?

Her view of them both would never be the same after last night, not after sensing the way they each used the force.

“Are you alright, Padme?” asked Obi-Wan, watching her.

“Yes,” she said immediately, like a reflex.

He went quiet; he didn’t inquire further, but she knew he was _thinking_. There were so many things he didn’t say. She just knew it. He _was_ like a placid lake, but with what depths hidden beneath the surface? What was beneath? She wanted to know. She hated not knowing things.

His eyes shuttered and he glanced aside, but he was sitting close enough for her to feel the warmth from his arm and she didn’t want to let him go so easily. They had at least a few minutes to kill before breakfast arrived, didn’t they? So, she felt for the force around him and observed the lake, despite his avoidance. She stayed close to him and pressed him with a subtle pressure, which he politely ignored. This must have been what Anakin was talking about last night, and she realized she was being rude or at least insensitive, or perhaps she was being _too_ sensitive.

She glanced over at Anakin and he was peering darkly sideways at her, so she rolled her eyes at him. How was she supposed to be a master of the force after so little experience? With a sigh, she relinquished all feeling and stared glumly into nothing.

After a moment, she felt Obi-Wan take her hand gently in his. She felt his presence return like when the sun comes from behind a cloud; warm and radiant and subtle, and so familiar that sometimes she might not notice. She noticed this time, however.

There was a knock at the door and Anakin was up in an instant retrieving their breakfast.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

There was a small transport which was used to take them to the surface of Tatooine. It had been a long time since she’d been to the desert planet, but it didn’t give her any feelings of nostalgia. She wondered how Anakin felt about it all and glanced toward him while he was gazing through the port glass.

He looked tired.

“Hey,” said Padme, coming to stand by him and tugging his sleeve at the elbow, “Maybe we’ll stop by and see your mom.”

“Yeah,” said Anakin, not looking away from the glass, “maybe.”

He didn’t seem like he wanted to, and she wondered why that may be. She glanced at Obi-Wan, who met her eyes and then glanced away, but beckoned to her to follow him around the edge of the corridor nearby.

“What is it?” she asked him.

“You are aware of how the Jedi must forsake all attachment, correct?” he asked her gently.

“Oh no,” she said, glancing back to where Anakin was around the corner. “Oh, no, I just thought… does that mean he can never see his own mother?”

“Well, technically he can,” said Obi-Wan, “but he cannot if he still feels attachment to her.”

Padme felt that to be quite horrific if she were to be fully honest about it.

“Which he does,” added Obi-Wan. “It hasn’t been easy for him. I can only imagine visiting Tatooine is not something he’s happy to do.”

“It must be horrible,” said Padme. “I just can’t imagine. How do you deal with it?”

“We just do,” replied Obi-Wan. “As I’ve told you before, it is always a process. We are never finished.”

“I feel terrible for bringing it up,” said Padme.

Obi-Wan gave her a small smile.

“Should I apologize?” she asked.

“No,” chuckled Obi-Wan. “You didn’t know. It’s better to leave it be.”

Padme found herself observing Obi-Wan a moment.

“Interesting,” she said.

“What?” he asked.

She gave him her own small smile in return.

“It’s nothing,” she replied, and turned to rejoin Anakin at the port glass.

“What a sorry planet,” said Padme as she stood beside Anakin and observed its growing size as they entered the atmosphere.

“Definitely,” said Anakin as they waited.

0()0()0()0()0()0()0()0()0()0

As soon at the landing platform fell, a rush of hot, dry air blasted against her exposed skin. Behind her stood her secret Jedi, on guard, flanking her descent towards the shaded alcove in which the Hutt waited with his goons. She approached with as much confidence as she could muster.

The goons rose as she approached, but the Hutt lounged in his seat and watched her sideways.

“Well,” said the Hutt, “Madame Negotiator, I presume?”

“Odo the Hutt, I presume,” she replied.

“We are met,” he rejoined. “Have a drink with me?”

The Hutt gestured towards a seat across the small table from him.

“I suppose,” said Padme, and she sat.

“Now,” said Odo, pouring a drink from a crystal decanter nearby and sliding it across the table. “What can I help you with?”

Padme lifted the drink, sniffed it, and was immediately certain she didn’t want to drink any of it. She glanced over Odo, considering.

“I’ve been sent to gather information about your other ‘shipments’,” she said.

“Who says I have any other shipments?” asked Odo, glancing at his goons, who chuckled, as if that was funny. He smiled at Padme. “My friends just happened to bring me some crates they found, I don’t know anything about ‘shipments’.”

It was so obviously a blatant lie, but this must be how he functioned, so Padme adjusted, considered, and then gambled:

“Well,” said Padme, “That’s fine. I was just wondering, though… because I’ve heard about the militarist faction in the Galactic Senate, and how if they get enough votes to fund a separate army, they’ve got their eyes set on taking down the Hutts. Now, I know you’re a legitimate business, but they don’t seem to think so. You know how extremists are.”

Odo the Hutt seemed to have paled, but she couldn’t be sure, seeing as how he just looked like a slug.

“So I was thinking… if you’ve got enough of those shipments averted, like your friends just did, then maybe enough of those votes will go another way to change the outcome to something more… profitable,” she said. “What do you think?”

“Hmmnnmh,” said Odo, making a noise particular to his species. His eyes narrowed on her, and for the first time she saw the real face of Odo the Hutt; shrewd and calculating. “I may be able to provide you with some information, _Madame Negotiator_.”

“Oh?” inquired Padme.

“Yes,” he said, reverting to his original relaxed stance, “but only if we can become friends, eh?”

Padme gave him a tight smile.

“Perhaps,” she said.

“Don’t forget your friend Odo when you’re negotiating with _him_, alright?” he asked, lifting his cup in a toast.

“With the right information,” said Padme, raising her glass in reply, “I’ll never forget my friend Odo.”

^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^

“Oh stars, oh stars, oh stars, oh stars, _oh stars,” _said Padme, unable to release all of the pent up energy that had built in her throughout the entire process of duping the Hutt, getting the information chip, and securing a private transport vessel for her and her two security guards. As soon as the platform shut and they were alone, she collapsed from the pressure of it all onto her rump on the floor.

Obi-Wan and Anakin bent to console her and she held up a hand sharply.

“Shut up and check for bugs,” she commanded. “_Now!”_

As they disappeared, she hugged her knees and dropped her head into her arms. Sometimes, this was too much. She spent the next several minutes trying to draw and release deep, calming breaths. Her nanny on Naboo had taught her how to do that whenever learning how to be a queen had become too much, which happened often. She’d had to learn to cope. That didn’t mean it was ever easy.

By the time Obi-Wan returned, she had become closer to her normal self, whatever ‘normal’ was.

“I’m sorry I told you to shut up,” she said.

Obi-Wan smiled at her.

“It’s quite all right,” he said, taking her hands and pulling her to stand. He looked at her with concern. “But are you all right?”

She smiled back, “I’m fine.”

He was still holding her hands.

“That was quite unbelievable,” he said to her. “You were so quick… and so shrewd. I’m quite relieved you’re on my side of things, to be honest.”

She chuckled a little and glanced down.

“At least you didn’t have to fight our way out of it,” she said.

“At least,” he said wryly.

“But there’s something else we learned, Obi-Wan,” she said. “I took a chance and was quite lucky to be correct in guessing. Though I’m quite unhappy to say it, it seems as if the person who is behind this, the true man behind the curtain… is a senator.”

He squeezed her hands, as if aware of how much that would bother Padme.

“Why would a senator want to destroy the Republic?” she asked him.

He gazed at her with his clear eyes, lacking an answer.

“It doesn’t make sense,” she said. “And not only that… to be honest, I find it a bit infuriating.”

“I don’t blame you,” he said.

“No, a _lot_ infuriating,” she corrected.

“Yes?” he inquired.

“How can a senator betray his own people, his own office? His own _oaths_?” she demanded of Obi-Wan.

“I don’t know,” he replied.

“It’s reprehensible!” she said.

“I am inclined to agree,” said Obi-Wan.

“I’ll find out who he is and I’ll have him hanged for treason!” she oathed, pounding a fist into her palm.

“Perhaps a hanging is a bit archaic for-,” began Obi-Wan carefully, but she cut him off:

“This can not be allowed to stand! I’ll not allow it! Not on my watch!” She pointed a stern finger at Obi-Wan.

“I don’t doubt you,” he offered, perhaps in surrender.

She let out a restless groan and looked over Obi-Wan, and instantly hated his shroud. She pulled it from around his shoulders and tossed it bitterly to the floor. Then, she smoothed his robes along his shoulders and at the collar and made it perfect. This was something over which she had control, right now, in this moment.

As for Obi-Wan, he was mild and allowed it, and as she finished and was satisfied, she lifted her eyes back to his and saw a softness there, an empathy, an understanding. He softened her, somehow, turning her rage into gentle warmth, and she saw at once why he was the one put to minding Anakin where the other Jedi could not. He was water to fire; he could douse the wildest rage not by force, but with gentle, empathetic persuasion.

“That’s incredible,” she half-whispered, forgetting that she’d left her hands resting on his chest.

“Is it?” he asked, almost as if he was asking what ‘it’ might be.

She didn’t bother telling him, because she’d begun, again, to bask in the presence of the lake of still water which emanated from him, and she’d remembered what it felt like to touch his cheek.

This time he must have forgotten not to let her, because she fell in. Before she knew it, she was submerged, fallen, riding in the depths of energy that can be known as the whole of a person; that which defines them and beyond that which defines them, and here she was, a new element introduced, creating reverberations against that which had always been, not unwelcome, but alien and new and different and the resulting metaphysical reaction was _vibratory. _

In the distance there was a disturbance in the force. It called again and then suddenly, like breaking out of deep water, past the surface, into the air, she knew it:

“What the hell?” Anakin was yelling.

Padme gasped and realized she was in Obi-Wan’s arms, her face had been pressed into the spot where his neck met his shoulder, and she felt his own breath catch, nearly at the same time as hers, in her hair, by her temple, and _oh stars…_ she had no idea what had just happened.

They pulled apart, quickly, lacking grace, and stared at each other.

“I leave you two alone for, what, half a click?” complained Anakin, still outraged. “What is this?”

“I-I don’t know,” stammered Padme, though she was unable to look away from Obi-Wan. The echoes of memory kept reverberating again, and again, though she was desperately trying to clear her head.

Obi-Wan looked grave and sorely penitent.

“I don’t know what happened,” said Padme, finally turning her gaze to Anakin. She felt a little helpless, as if, somehow, he could tell her what happened.

“I’ll tell you what happened!” said Anakin, as if on cue. He pointed at Padme: “You overstepped your bounds. _Hard_. I told you what not to do, and you did it anyway! Not only did you do it, you _extra did it!_”

“It is not all her fault,” Obi-Wan quietly interjected.

Anakin stopped at once, perhaps having been fully ready to go into a tirade upon Padme, but his fire was doused and his anger faded, and as it melted away, it became clear that, beneath it all, Anakin was extremely pained by Obi-Wan’s admission, possibly beyond anything she’d seen yet on the padawan’s face.

It was then she understood; Anakin was afraid of losing his master. He clung to Obi-Wan with the same attachment which he’d been forced to give up in becoming a Jedi padawan. But perhaps his attachment, though not formally approved of, had merit, for who else could be his master but Obi-Wan Kenobi? Was there anyone else who could do it? Padme was nearly certain no one else could.

Now she threatened that, and Anakin was forced to watch as she pulled his master apart. She wasn’t an enemy he could fight off or keep physically at bay. She was an ally that they needed, and so Anakin had to watch as his master became weakened by Padme and her unwillingness to stay away from him. Padme at once felt a monstrous burden of remorse fall on her shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” she said to Anakin, meaning it.

He looked at her with a kind of sullen restraint.

She glanced at Obi-Wan.

“I’m sorry,” she said to him, differently, with a different meaning for him. She glanced away and moved off into the transport in the hopes of finding reports to scour.

-_-__-___-____-___-__-_-


	9. South Coruscant

NINE:

Padmé spent the next hour or so in a small alcove of the transport, losing herself in scouring the reports that Odo supplied. It looked as if the Hutt had given her just about everything he had, probably in the hopes of getting on the good side of who he thought was her ‘boss’… and she had no idea who that was supposed to be.

“Any clue where we should go yet?” asked Anakin as he came into the alcove and seated himself on the bench opposite her holo reports.

She felt her forehead crease as she pulled her eyes away from the holos.

“No,” she said, glancing at Anakin. “Not yet, but there’s got to be something in here. This is a lot bigger than we thought it would be.”

Anakin glanced at the holos, then leaned forward.

“We should chart these on a map,” he said.

“I’ve been doing that, actually,” she said, clicking the touchpad and bringing up a map of the galaxy.

Anakin’s eyebrows raised and he appeared somewhat impressed.

“Good,” he said, studying the map. “You know… we should find out where each of the five Hutt syndicates are headquartered, then use that to trace the funneling of supplies. Then we could-,”

“Use that to pinpoint where their orders are coming from!” finished Padmé.

“Exactly!” said Anakin, and he shared a rare smile with her.

“But how do we find out where the Hutts are?” she asked.

“I think I can help with that,” said Obi-Wan from the far wall. He must have been lurking, which was an odd choice for him, and it surprised them both. “If you remember I do… ah… know a guy. Deep on Coruscant.”

“You did mention something about that,” said Padmé, peering at him.

“One does what one must in order to seek one’s preferred outcomes,” said Obi-Wan, hands spread.

“Right,” said Anakin, glancing at Padmé, who met his glance and then shrugged a little.

“Are you suggesting we go see this… guy?” inquired Padmé.

“It’d probably be the best way to communicate with him,” said Obi-Wan.

“Nghn,” said Padmé, not at all fond of the lower, crime-infested levels of Coruscant.

“Or rather,” said Obi-Wan, observing Padmé and seeming to self-correct, “Anakin and I could just go, if… you would rather not, Padmé?”

“Well, I mean,” said Padmé, meandering, “if you’d rather I stay back, I could… I’m sure you can both handle it… probably…?” 

“If you want to come, you can,” he offered, “I was just saying that if you _wanted _to, of course you could stay behind and we could just...”

“No, I wasn’t saying that at all,” said Padmé, holding out her hands, “I mean, I’ve gone this far, so maybe I should just keep going…?”

“Oh, my, _KRIFF_!” interrupted Anakin, exploding with exasperation. He gave them both a stern glance, each in turn. “Stop that! Now. _Please._”

“Stop what?” asked both Obi-Wan and Padmé.

Anakin groaned and drove his hands into his hair, making it stick up more than usual.

“So… you’re coming?” Obi-Wan asked Padmé.

“Of course,” she said with a smile. “What would you do without your negotiator?”

“We’d be entirely lost, of course,” replied Obi-Wan, giving her a half-smile in return.

“SO…,” said Anakin, “if your _friend_ in the underbelly of Coruscant actually has the information we need, then we can use these reports to find out the location of where all the orders are coming from.”

“So I guess we should hope he does,” said Padmé, shifting her gaze to Obi-Wan.

“And probably also hope we’re not robbed blind, or murdered, or sold into slavery while we’re there,” added Obi-Wan, probably too calmly. 

Padmé was definitely not looking forward to this, but she wasn’t going to tell _them_ that.

&&**&&**&&**&&**&&**&&

It was interesting returning to Coruscant after having been “adventuring” as they had for the past week or so. She didn’t return as a senator or any kind of dignitary, or on any official business at all. That was a first, for her. Something about entering the atmosphere of Coruscant put her in a negotiating mood, so she supposed she was in the right place. Although this time it appeared as if Obi-Wan would be doing the negotiating.

While Anakin was landing the transport in a discrete location, Padmé stopped Obi-Wan in the alcove.

“Hey,” she said to him.

“Yes?” he inquired.

“I, um, just wanted to apologize,” she said, “for the past few days. I feel terrible, and-…”

He stopped her with a hand.

“No, please don’t,” he said. “I should instead apologize to you. I acted reprehensibly.”

“You didn’t at all!” she objected. “How could you have known things would turn out that way?”

“I suppose I didn’t,” he said, “but it wasn’t as if I knew nothing going in…”

“I still don’t know what happened,” she said, “Do you?”

“Um,” said Obi-Wan, considering, “I suppose I can explain it like this: Usually when someone uses the force, and another person is aware of it, there’s a space there, between you and that person, separating both of you. Unless you don’t want that space to be there. But you usually do. You… almost always do. I would be so bold to say almost every time… ever… you do want that space to be there. Perhaps always, generally. Except that time, earlier, I… _didn’t._”

Padmé glanced aside as her face began to feel warm.

“And I suppose neither did you,” he added, more quietly, “Or else it wouldn’t have happened. It’s an… overlap… in the force. I suppose I don’t need to mention that it can be very… intimate.”

Padmé cleared her throat and said, “Yes, I gathered that.”

He was silent until she hazarded a glance back to his eyes, and then he went on.

“I did not behave wisely,” he said to her, as if it was another apology. “I hope you will forgive me.”

“Only if you will forgive me,” she replied.

“I will _always_ forgive you, Padmé,” he said, and it was so kind and endearing that she felt a twinge of irritation.

“My stars, Obi-Wan,” she said, crossing her arms, “Stop being so perfect.”

Obi-Wan chuckled.

“Perfect is something which I absolutely am not,” he said, “Or else we wouldn’t be here, would we?”

She glanced over his face.

“I am inclined to disagree,” she stated, her inner diplomat coming to the surface. “I believe all of this has proven the theory of your perfection even further than before.”

A bit of color rose at his neckline, and she observed it, and then smiled at him.

“So,” she said to him, “We are both sorry, we are both forgiven, and we are both, hopefully, near the end of this escapade. And do you know what that means?”

“What is that?” he inquired.

“That we will soon be out of one another’s hair and able to live normal lives, again,” she said.

“I suppose that’s true,” he said, but in an instant that sunk in for them both, and Padmé realized she wasn’t looking forward to it being over.

Well, she _was_ because it was all dangerous and stressful and awful, but… she _wasn’t. _As she glanced up at Obi-Wan, she realized it was all because of him. She loved getting to be near him day and night. She loved the feeling of being near him. She loved everything about him. She loved… _him. _

When had this happened, she wondered? Perhaps since the beginning. Perhaps always.

She turned aside at once.

“I wonder,” she said, looking toward the front of the transport, “how Anakin is getting along?”

She began to move away, and he caught her wrist from behind.

“Wait,” he said, his voice warm.

She was afraid to look at him, afraid of what she might see. She was afraid that he’d seen everything she had thought, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to face that, not right now. Not in a stupid, stupid, transport alcove. 

“Padmé,” he said.

She braced herself for a moment, and then lifted her gaze to his, and then she didn’t know at all why she would have ever been afraid. He was so very warm, so serene…

“You need to know, Padmé,” he said, and then, correcting, “No, I… I want you to know.”

“What do you want me to know?” she asked him.

“That I feel the same way,” he confessed, and she saw, within the serenity, a certain small string of vulnerability thread through him. It hurt then, a little bit, to know it and she felt tears coming, gradual but coming.

“What good does that do?” she asked, trying not to blink with the hope that she could keep a tear from falling, and trying to keep her diplomat’s face from slipping.

“None,” he admitted, diffusing her. “It’s selfish of me, isn’t it? To tell you. I just didn’t want to be alone in knowing.”

She reached out at once to touch the soft beard at his cheek and he fell in, turning his head to kiss her palm with a worshipful sigh. She reached for his other cheek as he kissed her palm again, bringing his hands up to hold her hand with a careful delicacy. He turned it, and then kissed the backs of her fingers softly, slowly, almost meditatively.

She ran her hand across his jawline, and down, to the pulse at his neck, which was warm, beating, and just for her as he turned her hand again and dropped his lips to the inside of her wrist, and there she could feel the soft puff of his breath against her pulse. She caught her breath without knowing it until she’d already gasped.

“How selfish I am,” he whispered against her wrist, desperation creeping into his words.

She moved against him and kissed his temple.

“No…,” she whispered to him, “No more selfish than I am.”

They fell equally into an embrace; one of mutual, selfish surrender.

At that moment they felt the subtle jar of landing on solid ground and of the need for expediency, for Anakin had finished and would wonder where they were.

They pulled apart, but it was as if they were still connected by a thousand echoing threads strung between them, clamoring for a return to their previous unification.

“I was determined that this would not happen,” said Padmé.

“So was I,” confessed Obi-Wan.

She then became hopelessly lost in his gaze for at least three seconds, all the while her brain was yelling at her that she didn’t have three seconds to spare.

“We’re down!” called Anakin’s voice from the cockpit, and they turned at once to join him.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

South Coruscant, or so it was called even though there wasn’t really anything particularly “south” about it since it was everywhere but just lower in elevation from the rest of Coruscant, was a dim, mismatched jigsaw puzzle cobbled together from half-formed alleys and leaning doors in the shadow of harsh violets and blues, and an oozing smog of swirling ghosts in the lopsided cadence of gasping, old bulbs. It wasn’t Padmé’s favorite place. Something about it felt… _catching_, and not in a good way.

They ducked into a dimly lit doorway at Obi-Wan’s behest, falling into a dive which he called ‘the best place for information this side of the middle rim’, whatever that meant. It again made Padmé wonder what sorts of things Obi-Wan might tend to get up to in his meddling time.

He’d been insistent that she wear the hood of her cloak up for this encounter, saying that this wasn’t a place where one shows one’s face. She readily complied, feeling quite agreeable about maintaining her anonymity here. He and Anakin likewise wore their cowls, and, despite being shrouded, it seemed as if Anakin found this place very interesting.

Once within, Obi-Wan made his way through the locals easily, passing as smoothly as a fish through water, and in fact, she was fairly certain he did something to those minds they passed to make his party as unremarkable as possible. Hardly anyone batted an eye at their passing. It was as if they were never there. Padmé felt, for a moment, like a ghost.

They crossed the mainland of the dive and moved into a plain side room with a holotable. There, Obi-Wan took the lead and motioned for Padmé to sit, which she did, and then he took a seat beside her. Anakin remained standing and alert nearby.

She felt tension emanate from Obi-Wan at that moment, causing her to glance over at him. He didn’t look tense at all and actually looked as serene as ever, if perhaps a bit more focused than usual. She touched his hand lightly and a faint wave of his tension spilled over into her, which she buffeted, absorbed it, and it dissipated. He glanced at her and gave her a faint smile.

“Well, hello there,” said a man’s voice. Padmé pulled her hand away to see a man lope to sit across from them at the holotable who appeared to be made from roguish leans and lopsided smiles. He didn’t so much sit in the chair across from them as lounge recklessly in it. She wondered what held him together, what with appearing to be made of so many loose parts.

“Close that door, would you?” he said, pointing his chin at Anakin, and the door.

Anakin gave him a dark look over being commanded to do anything, and then shut the door.

“Hello, again,” said Obi-Wan, leaning his elbows on the table. “I wanted to thank you for your help with the… droid situation.”

The man shrugged one shoulder and said, “Seems like it worked. So far, anyway. My people see it as a step in the right direction.”

Then he glanced at Padmé.

“Who’s that?” he asked, as if she wasn’t sitting right there and he could have just asked her. Instead, he asked Obi-Wan as if he were the only person who could speak for her, as if she were a terrified little mouse who couldn’t say anything. She narrowed her eyes and leaned forward in her chair.

“I’m no one,” she said, “Definitely, absolutely no one.” 

She felt as if Obi-Wan was amused beside her. 

The man’s eyebrows raised, and he nodded a few times as if in consideration.

“All right,” he said, “Whatever you say, _no one_. I can get behind that.”

“I’m here to ask a favor,” said Obi-Wan.

“Oh?” asked the man.

“I know in the past I’ve seen you and your friends’ preparations as being a bit on the radical side, but I’m afraid that with the new information I’ve gotten that your ideas are a little less far-fetched… although hopefully still preventable,” said Obi-Wan.

“Now I’m really interested,” said the man.

“I don’t understand,” said Padmé. “What preparations?”

“No one is nosy,” said the man, shifting his gaze to Padmé.

“We can trust no one,” assured Obi-Wan.

The man seemed vaguely amused, and then waved a hand in allowance to Obi-Wan to explain.

“He’s with a group of… I wouldn’t call them anarchists,” Obi-Wan told her, “But I would say they’re preparing for the fall of the Republic.”

“Preposterous,” replied Padmé.

“Perhaps not so much as you might think,” said Obi-Wan.

Padmé felt outrage rise in her; just considering the idea seemed insane. Obi-Wan seemed to sense this, and he quickly went on.

“It’s not definite, of course. Nothing ever is. Nor have I given up hope,” said Obi-Wan, “But the fabric of the Republic has been eroding for centuries, though I work toward a renewal, not preparation for the ruin. That’s where I and my associate differ.”

Padmé glanced at the man, and he shrugged as if he thought Obi-Wan was a hopeless romantic for the Republic’s survival.

“However, we are united in the idea of salvaging what can be salvaged,” said Obi-Wan. “So he works on his preparations for a future rebellion he thinks will be necessary once the Republic dissolves, and I work on preserving what we currently have. I think it’s much easier to preserve it than to have to rebuild again after destroying it.”

“I just think it’s better to be prepared,” said the man, who seemed to find all this explaining boring.

Padmé looked at Obi-Wan, feeling an unfamiliar weakness where she had before felt impenetrable.

“Do you think it’s as bad as this?” she asked Obi-Wan. “Is it really this far gone? How could I not know? _How could I not know it?_”

He looked at her with compassion and empathy, knowing full well this was her life. She had poured her entire life into the government of the Republic as a public servant, and now felt as if the foundation upon which she had always stood wasn’t the solid bedrock she had always believed, but weak and cracking beneath her.

“I think it is not so far gone as to be impossible to save,” replied Obi-Wan.

“She’s a senator, isn’t she?” asked the man.

Padmé gasped and looked at him, but he just looked bored and as if he didn’t care. He even had the gall to look as if having a galactic senator there was _tiresome_.

“Whatever,” he said, “You wouldn’t be the first down here. Look, I don’t have all day. What do you want to know, and how will it help me?”

“We need to know where the Hutt syndicates are currently located,” said Obi-Wan.

“Well, you sure go straight to the top, don’t you?” said the man, chuckling.

“We’re actually trying to track down somebody even higher,” said Obi-Wan.

“There’s somebody running the _Hutts_?” asked the man incredulously. “I doubt it.”

“Not running them…,” said Obi-Wan. “There’s somebody offering them deals to their mutual benefit. The Hutts get financial benefits, and the person we’re after, well, I suppose you could call it _political _benefits.”

“Huh,” said the man, thoughtful.

“We think this person’s trying to weaken the Republic, perhaps irrevocably,” said Obi-Wan.

“Okay,” said the man. “Probably also a senator.”

“Possibly,” said Obi-Wan, trying to be fair.

“This is why we prepare, Madame No One,” said the man, giving Padmé a wry smile. “Because the galactic senators can’t seem to stop fighting long enough to let the Republic function like a proper government. It can’t continue like this forever.”

Padmé let out an annoyed noise but kept her thoughts to herself.

“All right,” said the man, “Give me ten clicks and I can probably get this information for you. I’m going to need a lot of credits, though. I’m going to have to play a lot of games of nerf-herder to get it out of the right people.”

“Very well,” said Obi-Wan, rising. “Get the information and I’ll give you your credits. A pleasure doing business, again.”

“Likewise.” 

b-0-q-0-b-0-q-0-b-0-q-0-b


End file.
